


Prime Sees All

by LadyBinary



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Biting, Clone Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Play, Control, Denial, Dubcon Cuddling, Dubious Consent, Embarrassment, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fear Play, Fluff and Smut, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gratuitous Smut, Group Sex, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Held Down, Hive Mind, Light Bondage, M/M, Massage, Mild Blood, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Moral Ambiguity, Mouth Kink, Multi, Pain, Painplay, Power Play, Predator/Prey, Predicament Bondage, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Seduction, Self-Worth, Sensation Play, Service, Service Top, Shame, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Submission, Tags Contain Spoilers, Teasing, Teeth, Telepathy, Threesome - F/M/M, Trapped, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, Watching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 35,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinary/pseuds/LadyBinary
Summary: She only wanted to see him up close - a living god, in the flesh. But if the abyss stares back, flesh is not all that will be Seen...Much lighter and more tongue-in-cheek than 'To Desire Perfection', featuring a deliberately blank-slate female OC for your self-insert enjoyment.
Relationships: Horde Prime (She-Ra)/Original Character(s), Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra)/Original Character(s), Horde Prime/Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

She is no ambassador.

It was a flimsy facade from the start. What need would there be for negotiations, with the one whose dominion is absolute? 

The excuse, somehow, has worked. Her luxurious accommodations and gracious treatment would be fit for a queen. She has scarcely been able to enjoy it - the deferential attendants, the rare foods and silks - with the ever-present anxiety that twists in her gut. _Impostor._ Surely, at any moment, her unworthiness will be exposed. 

Compulsively, she re-checks the optic disruptor mounted to her wrist. It is still working, of course - she is still completely invisible. If she weren't, skulking in plain sight behind the great fanned screen of the throne room, she would surely be dead by now. But she needed to _see_ him. The Conqueror of Galaxies, the one who rules her planet from afar - projections and holograms are not enough. Not even the towering spires, preaching sweet words of praise for her world's surrender, could do justice to the sight of a living God in the flesh. 

Despite her invisibility, she hides - crouching, peering just around the screen. To request an audience with the Emperor could only lead to disaster. Her own thin veneer of regal poise would dissolve in an instant, the moment she met his eyes. Those glowing, piercing eyes… mesmerizing, in their alien asymmetry. The secondary pair flicks to her now - lingers - she stiffens, terrified - then, an attendant passes in front of the throne, and by the time the obstruction is clear, his Imperial gaze has moved on. She sags, biting back the instinct to sigh in relief. From the shadows, at least, she is free to admire. 

And admire she does, for before her is a vision of grandeur.

His imposing physical presence is _breathtaking._ She is blessed with a near-perfect view from this angle, terrifyingly near. From a distance, she’d had no frame of reference. Now - even seated as he is - she can fully appreciate Prime’s _impossible_ stature, the jawdropping breadth of his shoulders and chest. He has one leg casually crossed over the other, thigh-high slits in his robes showing off the graceful musculature and length. She can hardly bear to lift her gaze to the sharp angles of his face; it must be her imagination, but each time she glances to his eyes, at least one seems to be aimed directly at her. 

The attendants have been doing… _something…_ with the cables that flow from his headpiece to his back; the metallic lengths are aglow with green fluid, casting an otherworldly light. She strains for a better view, afraid to leave the sense of safety given by the screen between them. It is difficult to see from this angle, but he seems to be jacked into an array of ports on the throne itself. As she watches, an attendant leans in to adjust something behind his shoulder; the Prime tilts his head to murmur something into the clone's ear. 

An intriguing neon flush spreads over the attendant's bone-white face; he leans closer as his ruler strokes one steel-armored claw beneath his chin. Even from her hiding space, their secret audience can hear the clone’s soft sigh of bliss, see his eyes drift closed and his batlike ears fold low in contentment. Her own eyes widen, entranced. _So gracious to his underlings… he seems almost affectionate. Is he praising that one for serving him well?_

She has long heard these 'Brothers' extol the praises of their Exalted one. They worship the Prime - as do all devout followers of his Light. How wonderful it must feel, to be _touched_ by a living god. By now, Prime has pulled the clone into his lap and is stroking over his head - the attendant melts into the attention, nuzzling his huge hand, giving little trills of pleasure that make her own heartbeat flutter. Such a soft air from someone so powerful, tending to a devoted one of his flock. 

His eyes do _not_ turn to her. She reminds herself yet again that he cannot see her. He must be looking at something on the edge of the screen. That slow, curling smirk gracing his lips - it must be for the sighing, wriggling clone in his arms. It _must_ be. 

Indeed, now the Prime’s eyes turn back to his thrall, and the smirk remains… as he strokes down to the back of the clone's neck, and pulls him closer… and… 

She stares, frozen in shock. This… must be… a cultural difference. Perhaps kissing is less intimate for their strange, hivemind species. Doesn’t he call them his ‘Brothers’? Well… from what she knows, it seems hardly familial to be grown in a vitrine, and emerge into the hivemind fully adult… but still, perhaps this is simply a… way of expressing… thanks? 

_...Oh. Oh, my._

The remaining attendant busies himself with adjustments behind the throne, face flushed a vibrant green, as the sounds from the two on the throne turn unmistakably lewd. Their unprepared voyeur covers her mouth with both hands as she ducks back fully behind the screen. She hadn’t known their _tongues_ were green as well. 

Heart thudding, trying not to hyperventilate too loudly behind her hands, the so-claimed ‘ambassador’ shrinks deeper into her crouch. She is far, _far_ out of her depth. How is she to keep a composed air with her attendants after this - wondering if perhaps they, too, worship the Prime in the most _intimate_ way? Her only, momentary comfort is the now absolute certainty that she is unseen. Clearly, she was _not_ meant to witness this. The Emperor of the Galactic Horde would never deliberately share something so… so _private_.

Beyond the screen, the sounds grow more passionate - the clone’s voice rises from mewls to moans, heavy breathing, little scattered gasps. Should she cover her ears? No - then her own breathing would be exposed. Her pounding heart alone feels loud enough to reveal her. She squeezes her eyes shut as she feels heat rising in her own cheeks. So this is what goes on in the Empire, behind closed doors. Or - _wide open archways_ , she realizes; the doorway is unobstructed. She could risk making a break for it, down the long open catwalk to the arched door. Perhaps, distracted like this, they wouldn't hear her escape… 

She risks a peek around the edge of the screen, to check that her path is clear - and then, all thoughts of escape crumble from her mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned... :P 
> 
> The 'Ambassador' is, of course, all of us. I blame the Discord gang, particularly MasqueradeTea, for some of the upcoming chapters in this fic - but this first one, I have none to blame but myself. Note that I might not have the guts to fully Go There with a female OC... but hey, that's what I said about TDP once too. In the meantime, enjoy some voyeurism.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Prime/Clones smut, not *quite* explicit; some religious notes, guilt; Evocative Use Of Cables.

She should run. She really, really should. 

The throne room’s arched doorway is not so far. She could reach it, if her steps are quiet. They wouldn’t notice. The Prime is…  _ clearly  _ occupied.

She should run… but for that, she must tear her eyes away from the vision before her. 

The three are arranged on the throne like a classical painting, twined bodies in dramatic repose. The glow-filled cables jacked into the throne provide a vivid, sinuous backlight to their movements - graceful, languid -  _ beautiful.  _

The one on Prime's lap shivers in a deep arch, pressing back and down against the broad hand behind his neck. He moans freely beneath his ruler's lips and tongue as they move over his throat. That steel claw strokes up his inner thigh, slowly, teasing - then, disappearing beneath the tabard's slit. Prime's upper body looms over his slow backward squirm, as if dipping him in a sensuous tango. 

The remaining attendant has succumbed to the enticing display as well. He drapes against Prime from the opposite arm of the throne, clinging to the broad shoulder to tongue the metallic lengths cascading from their ruler's headpiece. The cables move as if alive - one by one, they disconnect from the throne's back, rising into the air around their worshipper like some hypnotic inverse of a snake charmer. The attendant stretches up to meet them with his tongue. 

She, their enraptured audience, feels rooted in place - powerless to flee. There is something sublime, almost holy, in the passionate scene before her. Perhaps it truly is. After all, is the Prime not their God? Could she be intruding on a sacred rite? The thought sends a twist of guilt through her stomach. There is far more to learn about the Light than she had ever realized. Her very presence could be a desecration of something deeper than her ability to comprehend. And yet, it feels impossible to look away.

_ May the gods forgive me… especially this one...! _

The clone in Prime’s arms gives a needing whine as his ruler’s hand moves beneath his tabard. The Prime, face buried in his neck, rumbles in reply - a captivating sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl. Behind him, those thick, sinuous cords slide around the second one’s body, teasing and tugging him closer. The luminous fluid remains in only a few; they cast a green glow as they tighten their curling grip on black-clad limbs.

That sound, that purr… it seems to resonate through the open space, through her own body. Her heart hammers in her chest as heat pools between her legs, unbidden. She tightens her grip on the edge of the fan-shaped screen. It is too late to run; whatever life awaits her beyond this one, this sin will follow her. And if she is discovered, that fate might come sooner than she’d hoped.

Something…  _ happens  _ to the cable-bound clone. She cannot see the destination of the glint of metal that moves behind his neck; but he stiffens instantly, eyes wide - and then  _ melts  _ in the winding grasp with a groan. In the same moment, there is a little gasp from the arched attendant. Prime's touch seems to have found its way between his legs. One cable snakes behind his neck, where Prime’s grip now shifts, parting his fingers to reveal the spinal port; this time, her view is clear. Her hand clamps back over her mouth as she watches the needlelike tip plunge home.

Linked through their god, the two shiver - then, their voices unite in a joyous moan. 

She clenches her throat, desperately trying not to whimper in reply. The Emperor's hand is hidden from view by the trembling hip, but the willful movements of his arm ignite her captured imagination. She draws her lower lip between her teeth. What is that hand massaging, through the clone’s thin black tights? The desperate panting it elicits, and the shudders rising through the arched frame, are beyond evocative...

She wonders if any of…  _ that… _ is the same vibrant green. She has no idea what this species even has beneath the robes, and no intention of finding out. No  _ intention,  _ but… if she happens to catch an accidental glimpse, it could hardly add to her existing sins. 

The uniforms remain intact, despite the clear strength of Prime’s touch. She would never think to be disappointed, of course. She doesn’t…  _ want  _ to see this, right…? She wants to escape…? But the majestic scene arrests her where she stands. Yes; she cannot be blamed for being transfixed by the sight of a living god’s power. She is as helpless as the attendants… herself hardly more composed than the two thralls writhing against him, panting and gasping. That thrumming resonance deepens as the arched one throws his head back, giving her a full view of his face, his vibrant flush, his mouth stretched open for the rising moans. 

The Prime lifts his head from his subject’s throat. At the sight of his expression, her core clenches in fear, and perhaps something else. Those eyes are gleaming, hungry - no,  _ ravenous. _ He shifts the clone’s head in his grip, forcing him to meet that piercing gaze, and holds - never breaking eye contact, nor the slow, inevitable rhythm of his hand - his lips move in a murmur she cannot hear -

Both voices crest in a wild, drawn-out cry.

She sinks to her knees behind the screen. Her face burns with heat - as does her core, clenching in forbidden excitement. Burying her face in her hands, she struggles to control her breathing and the slight squirm of her hips.  _ Compose yourself!  _ The trailing, softening moans and gasps in her ears make such a task nearly impossible. 

At least it seems to be over; she has a moment to catch her breath, wait for the next chance to escape. For the next few minutes, that is all she manages to do: desperately try to slow her breathing behind her hands, holding as still as possible behind the screen. Gradually, the trio of purrs from the throne are joined by inaudible murmurs and quiet trills. 

Eventually, she hears movement, the hiss of cloth and cables as the clones reluctantly separate from their ruler. She risks a glance beneath the edge of the screen; Prime has apparently risen to his feet as well. His resonant voice shows no sign of strain - rather, it carries an audible smirk. “There, now… I trust you have recovered enough?” 

There is a pause. The attendants must have given some sign of assent, for his voice then continues. “Very good. You may rest, after one small task...” She hears the two shift their stance, straightening eagerly. Thank the gods - perhaps they are preparing to leave, and she will finally be able to flee. 

Prime’s voice deepens into a purr. “...Fetch me our little voyeur from behind the screen.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for roughness/manhandling in a nonsexual context (but then again I'm kinky sooo).

_“Fetch me our little voyeur from behind the screen.”_

She does not wait for the clones' response. Without a moment's thought, she _bolts._

Sheer panic drives her legs in an explosion of strength. With a running leap, she clears the dais, missing the two attendants by just a few feet as she dives for the catwalk. The glimpse of their stunned faces and twitching ears, looking in the direction of her footfalls, gives an extra boost of adrenaline. _She is still unseen_ \- to the clones, at least. 

She lands in a skid, but somehow loses only an instant as she wrenches her forward momentum into a flat-out sprint. The exit is just across this span. Just a few yards away - she can make it - if she can just find somewhere to hide, she'll have time to think of a plan then - feet strike the floor behind her, but she has a head start, already halfway to the arch - a euphoric burst of adrenaline rises through her heart, blasting out through her legs with incredible speed - her feet pound beneath as she closes in on the doors - she has a chance - she has a _chance_ \- 

A solid wall of muscle slams into her back. The flying impact easily takes her feet off the floor - and the breath from her lungs, with the weight that joins her ensuing crash. For a few moments, the forward momentum carries them across the smooth surface; but at last, they finally skid to a halt. She gasps weakly, half-stunned, pinned flat on her face beneath the heavy frame. The exit taunts her, an arm’s reach away.

She’d been able to forget, for a few minutes, the _massive_ builds of the clones themselves; the Prime made their strapping bodies look slight by comparison. Now, as a huge clawed hand slides beneath her pinned waist, she finds it much easier to recall how they often must duck through doorways on her homeworld. Even the most heroically proportioned of her people are eclipsed by the breadth of their shoulders. 

This one is no different. The strength of his arm around her is inescapable; so too are the hard planes of his body against her back. She takes some consolation from the heavy breathing by her ear - at least she managed to leave him winded in the pursuit.

“ _Excellent_ tackle, ‘Brother’.” The Prime’s voice is as smooth as ever - utterly unruffled by her dramatic escape attempt. “Bring her to me.”

The thick forearm clamps against her waist; another wraps around her shoulders and chest, pinning her arms to her sides. Moments later, her entire weight is lifted easily into the air. Her adrenaline kicks briefly back in; she thrashes in the clone’s grip, kicking out and trying to push away. There is a grunt of surprise, and the hold slips for a moment. Then, just as the barest spark of hope blooms again in her chest, the Prime snaps his fingers.

Her optical disruptor crackles at her wrist - and gives out, in a plume of smoke and sparks.

“That should make things easier.” The smirk in Prime’s voice is still audible. “I occasionally forget that the infrared spectrum is only visible to _my_ eyes…”

Much more easily this time, her captor wraps his arms around her entire upper body. The forearm across her chest tightens, pressing her back against solid warmth. That iron grip enfolding her - and the low, warning growl in her ear - drain her of struggle. It is clear now that there is no escape. 

Once her wriggling abates, the clone carefully lowers her to her feet. In a moment, her arms are linked behind her back, both wrists engulfed in one broad hand. The other wraps around her shoulder - adding just a hint of pressure with its claws - and turns her back towards the dais. 

Towards her fate. 

Trembling, she allows the attendant's grip to lead her forward. Her legs are already beginning to ache from her sprint; each step feels less steady than the last. As they approach the platform, the other attendant joins them at her side, resting a hand over her free shoulder. His hold, at least, is gentler. She risks a glance up to his face. He shows no sign of shame or self-consciousness at the earlier display of passion; it is her own face that burns. Perhaps the hint of concern in his expression is her own wishful thinking. Once she meets his gaze, he turns his own resolutely forward. 

She follows his eyes as they crest the steps to the dais. There, standing with his hands steepled before his waist, calm, expectant… _smiling…_ is the Prime. 

His smile is radiant, even as he no doubt plots her demise.

Now that he has risen to his feet, she can appreciate his full majesty. The Ruler of the Known Universe is nothing short of a _titan_ \- towering over a head taller and broader than even his statuesque clones. She understands, now, why he rules from afar. An Emperor could hardly be expected to stoop - literally - to such indignity as her homeworld’s standard _ceilings_.

"Welcome… Ambassador," he purrs. His eyes - all four of them - lock onto hers, and the smile curls up into a smirk. "What a pleasure to see you at last."

She swallows. "Th-the… the pleasure is mine, Lord Prime."

The weight of the hands on her shoulders bears down; trembling, she sinks to her knees. At this angle, even from across the dais, she is forced to tilt her head back to meet Prime's eyes - a pose that leaves her throat uncomfortably exposed. As he steps closer, his eyes never break their hold. She cranes her neck to obey. 

"There is nothing to fear, little spy." His voice is like warm honey, dripping down onto her from his great height. "Whatever your misguided plans may have been… I bear no ill will." 

Plans…? Horror clenches in her gut, as the implication dawns. "Lord Prime, I - it's not - I'm -" She can barely get the words out, through her choked throat. "I'm no rebel, I swear by the gods - by the Light -”

The smirk above her spreads to a grin, showing off an utterly terrifying set of fangs. 

“That will get you nowhere, child. Swear it to _Me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> girl u is fuuuuuuuuxd


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW for some very evocative methods of interrogation. No sexual content or outright violence, but there is a noncon/suggestive vibe.
> 
> Some dialogue and original concept inspired by @MasqueradeTea from the lovely Discord gang <3

_“Swear it to Me.”_

She swallows; words catch on the lump in her throat. “I - I swear. By Your name, Lord Prime - I never meant you harm.”

All throughout her short stay on the Imperial flagship, she has imagined countless disaster scenarios for her first meeting with the Prime. Certainly, she feared exposure as a commoner - but still, at worst, the Emperor has been known to show mercy for devoted followers of his Light. Tears sting at the edges of her eyes; she drops her gaze to the floor, shaking in the attendants' dual grip. To be mistaken for a rebel spy, to feel the weight of his judging gaze - this had not occurred to her in even her worst nightmares. 

A huge hand reaches down to brush her cheek. The steel of his armored talon glides up over her skin, following the streak of tears. "Such feeling," he murmurs above her. "You thought hiding yourself would save you…? Poor thing." 

Flowing robes pool on the floor before her as Prime lowers a knee to the ground. Her eyes widen in shock - the Conqueror of Galaxies, _kneeling_ \- as her two flanking captors follow, taking a knee in symmetry to either side of her. The grip on each shoulder stays firm, as does the one around her linked wrists. Even kneeling, their broad frames loom over her own. 

Then, the steel claw slides beneath her chin, tugging her face back up. For that instant, every muscle in her trembling body - even her fluttering heart - falls utterly still. 

His face fills her vision. The sharp, graceful arcs of his cheekbones - the bow-shaped curve of his lips, curled at the edges in an enigmatic smile - the glints of metal tipping his ears, the graceful sweep of cables along his hair - and his _eyes_ , so close, terrifyingly close, burning into her, luminous in the shadow cast over her by his larger head. The quadruple eyes eclipse all else. 

"There is no shame in surrender," he purrs. His honeyed voice is a drug that simmers in her faltering heartbeat. "Did you truly believe it was _that_ easy, to forge diplomatic credentials? Your stay has been my entertainment. I am a _merciful_ God, you see.” 

The Emperor smiles broader, tilting his head in an expression that would seem _almost_ sympathetic - if it weren’t for the gleam in his piercing eyes. His hand moves to cup her cheek; its great size engulfs that side of her face. She feels his claws moving over her scalp, skimming ever so gently through her hair. Her paralyzed body fails to muster even a shiver. His voice seeps into her very bones. “In fact, I have prepared a token of interspecies goodwill. It is a gift... one that will allow us to be more _open_ with each other."

 _That_ gets her heart thumping again. 

“After all, we must strive for proper diplomacy.” His friendly smile remains, as metallic cables disconnect from their ports, and rise in a wreath around his head. “Don’t you agree… Ambassador?”

A panicked burst of survival instinct wrenches her head away, just escaping the cable that darts forward, snakelike. Prime sighs, wearing an expression of mild exasperation - as if feeding medicine to an unruly pet. "Hold her still."

Immediately, the attendants shift closer. Her initial captor presses his body to her back and pinned arms, wrapping his forearm in front of her shoulders again. The gentler one takes her head in both hands and carefully directs her to a neutral angle. The two lean close to make soft, thrumming coos in her ears - almost reassuring - again, as if she is a frightened animal resisting rescue. 

Prime's gaze finds hers again; he narrows his eyes, as if in concentration. "The brainstem is a very _delicate_ target…" he murmurs. Without force, he takes her chin; the attendant's hands keep her head immobile. "... _Do you understand?"_

Her breath has long since abandoned her. _So this is how I die._ Not the worst way, perhaps. Those eyes are so mesmerizing, so hauntingly beautiful. She sinks into their glow, her silent tears forgotten even as they spill. 

His voice lowers further: "That's it. Be still." Strong, clawed fingers tighten around her skull; broad palms engulf the sides of her face. She has lost track of whose hands are whose - they surround her on all sides, inescapable. Steel and green glow flashes in the corner of her eye. "Rejoice, small one… this is my _gift_ to you." 

And then, her entire nervous system is alight. 

A flood of radiance blasts through her body, instantly overtaking the point of pain at the base of her skull. She does not even have time to gasp before her breath is consumed. The thrumming around her grows louder - no, not around her, _inside_ her - it reverberates through her skull, deeper and deeper into her mind until it overtakes every thought, every neuron, every spark of her consciousness - it is not a sound, but a force, an energy, a Presence - 

A God.

_He expects a struggle, when entering a mind for the first time. There is always a struggle. And yet, this one cleaves to him like the skies to a sleekship. He sweeps aside the topmost layers of fear and despair like so much rubble, marveling as they melt to his will. Even his own Brothers are not always so pliant as this._

_He searches, sifting. This one is impressively trained; the rebel plans are well hidden, locked somewhere deep in her mind. No matter. He is absolute. He will find the shadow, and force it into his Light. He sees all._

_Ah. There it is - deeper. This layer resists him. This layer does not wish to be Seen._

She trembles beneath his touch, his eyes, his will. The Prime is - _inside_ her; she can _feel_ his will in her mind, stripping her open, laying bare her very soul. Never has she been so exposed, not even before a lover. It’s so much - so frightening, so humiliating, so _intimate_ \- she can’t bear to reveal her deepest thoughts and emotions, not like this, not to _him_ \- not to the very one who inspires those feelings -

“Show me your secrets,” he murmurs. His Presence plunges inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - shame, continued mind invasion. Major credit to @MasqueradeTea for some of the concept and dialogue for this chapter.

_“Show me your secrets.”_

As if she has a choice. This will is inescapable, inevitable… infinite. 

She caves to its force in an instant; and through that breach pours all it contained - all she had hidden, even to herself. Unbearable, overwhelming feelings explode from their sealed corner, like the proverbial evil spirits released from their box - and, just as the woman in the myth, she is helpless to seal them back in. _Need. Desire. Desperation. Shame._ All centered around one radiant, faraway light that was once no more than an abstract dream. Now, to her horror, that same light reveals the shapes of her deepest shadows. 

She now understands it was wrong to fear death. She can only hope for such mercy, after the Prime has his fill of her.

Above her, the larger pair of eyes has fallen closed; but his infinite conscious blazes inside with the brilliance of a neutron star. Notes of power, curiosity, gentle amusement at her pointless struggle… and then, as her secrets flood out… confusion? A blink of gleaming green; his eyes go wide with surprise - or rather, _shock_ \- 

_From within, there blasts forth a torrent of emotion. Its volume catches him off guard - for a creature so small, to contain such Feeling - but even more so, its flavor. For a moment, his will, in all its power, very nearly slips its footing. What he tastes is not hatred, or terror, or rage. Obsession, yes, of course… but of an entirely different ardor than revenge._

The hands on either side of her face give the barest twitch. Prime blinks again, slowly - as if absorbing an unseen vista - then, his lips begin to curl up at the edges. The piercing eyes soften, then close again. 

In the deepest reaches of her mind, she feels him… _inhale._

Confusion seeps through the sharp edges of her fear. There is warmth, now, from the Presence thrumming through her. Amusement, as before, but behind it… pleasure _._ He _exults_ in her overpowering emotions, even as her gut twists itself into an elaborate braid.

The overwhelming resonance gradually abates to a gentler thrum. As it softens, she begins to notice… _others..._ brush at the very edges of her consciousness. Their glow is much smaller, gentler; but their exotic presence is its own little hum, a low background awareness that she stands at the edge of some unimaginable harmony of minds. 

_He holds firm, by his ruler’s will. The small one in his arms has drawn His favor - but does not comprehend His glorious light. Not yet. So frightened, poor soft thing… he feels her delicate frame trembling against his body. Soon, it will be all right. Soon she will understand._

She shivers back to herself, completely thrown off balance by the momentary slip of perspective - it takes a moment to rediscover her own body. She does not understand. Her fear still consumes her, now joined by the cacophony of once-sealed emotion. But that shift in the Presence inside… something has changed. 

“I see now…” Prime murmurs, with that secretive smile. Slowly, he opens his eyes, to look down at his trembling captive with an unreadably casual air. “...You seem to have... _quite_ the infatuation with me.” 

A mortified flush spreads up her face, hot beneath the warmth of his palms. 

One hand moves down her cheek, to stroke a cool metal talon beneath her chin. His murmur becomes a purr. “...Isn’t that so, Ambassador?”

She makes no attempt to reply; even if she could conjure the words, her throat simply isn’t working. He seems not to expect one anyway. The smile simply spreads, and his overwhelming Presence dims from her mind - leaving only that strange little hum. 

"Release her, my Brothers." The Prime stands, smoothly adjusting his robes. "We have come into the possession of a rare and _exquisite_ treasure."

The grip on her wrists loosens, tentative; when she makes no attempt to struggle, it lets go. Her wrenched shoulders protest. Despite the pain, when a huge hand extends down before her, she numbly takes it - too stunned to do anything but comply. The attendants help her rise to her feet. Their hands take much of her weight, letting hers simply rest in the Emperor's palm. 

"Never baptized, nor chipped…" he muses above her. "Yet such _adoration…_ as true as one born to my flock..." 

A steel claw strokes the base of her skull with affection. Only then does she realize the needle is gone; she had not felt its exit. She can barely feel her legs, for that matter. Her entire being is numb with shock. She stares ahead, dazed, into cobalt skin - her eye level barely reaches his half-bare chest - as the hand moves around to her face, cupping it gently and turning it up to him as before. It takes a dramatic tilt of her head to meet his eyes. His expression has that same odd look of sympathy, the same unsettling gleam, as he'd worn just before piercing her spine. 

"How difficult it must be…" the Prime purrs. "How overwhelming… for a creature so small, so fragile, to be so _engulfed_ by emotions…" The hint of a smirk pulls at the edges of his sympathetic smile. "...Even if they _are_ for me."

His hand releases hers, and snakes behind the small of her back. For the first time in quite a while, a sound crawls out from her throat - little more than a helpless whimper - as he pulls her from the attendants' arms into his own. His support holds her close by the waist, close enough to feel the heat of his body against her. The tilt of her head is nearly vertical now; the swell of his chest would nearly obscure her gaze, if he did not lower his head to meet it. The purr deepens, resonating through her from his powerful frame, as he strokes the side of her face. 

"I will study you… that I may spread my Light to the darkest reaches of the universe." The Conqueror of Galaxies beams down at her, beatific, radiant. "You, my Ambassador, may yet bring forth peace after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There *is* more after this, but it's a lot less... planned. (Translation: just a bunch of episodic gratuitous dribbling with zero overall plot.) Updates will probably be slow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past this point, the tone takes a sharp veer to "gratuitous bullshit" as I shift to semi-episodic dribbles of whatever self-indulgent fluffsmut tickles my fancy. Abandon plot, all ye who enter here. 
> 
> First up, an interlude with servicey attendant bois. You may have already recognized the Soft One (referred to in this fic as the Gentle One) and the Bold One from 'To Desire Perfection'. Now the Patient One gets a cameo as well :>

She walks in a haze, the Prime’s words echoing through her thoughts. Occasionally, one of the hands behind her shoulders presses gently, and she turns in the direction indicated down another arched hallway. Most of her mind is devoted to puzzling out what in the Stars has just _happened._

Apparently, the Ruler of the Known Universe is keeping her. 

...As… what, exactly?

She is not... “of the Horde”, that much is clear. There has been no attempt to control her mind. She retains the nominal role of Ambassador; but to the Emperor, she seems to be more of an exotic curiosity. A pet? A toy? Whatever she is, it certainly seems better than being cast out an airlock. So far.

That strange new humming in her mind will take some getting used to. Without a direct connection to Prime, it is much quieter; but she can still feel a vague impression of pleasant warmth from the two attendants at her sides. _Her_ attendants now, apparently - not so long ago, her captors. Their favor, it seems, follows that of their God. 

His confusing words swim across her mind. _“My Chosen are those privileged to serve me ...personally. These two will look after our honored diplomat as well.”_ She lingers on the memory of him standing there, a hand on each clone’s shoulder, flashing her that secretive smirk. _“You will find they are highly capable... of any service you desire.”_

She is still uncertain what he meant, in that odd emphasis on... _any_ service. She has never _had_ attendants before this strange farce as a foreign dignitary. What services would one even ask of them? Laundry? 

In her distraction, she barely notices their arrival, until she recognizes the diplomatic guest suite. Her enjoyment of its luxuries has been weighed down with guilt. Yet, the Prime has apparently known of her masquerade all along; nothing has changed but her own awareness. In this unspoken game, who humors whom? She still doesn't entirely feel in on the joke. 

A third attendant awaits them, bearing an armload of silks. He bows as they enter the room. "Greetings, Ambassador. I am here for your fitting."

"My… what?" she stutters. "I… I brought my own clothes."

The clone bows again, his tone patient. "Of course, Ambassador. Needless to say, His Imperial Majesty will provide vestments more befitting your honored station." 

He turns away to spread the fabric over a well-cushioned chaise. When he turns back, he simply stands in place, bearing a handheld measurement scanner and a quiet smile. She swallows as her own two attendants nudge her forward. Is that a smirk, on the bolder one's face? 

"Please disrobe," prompts the servant smoothly. 

Well, at least one thing is clear now. She is decidedly _not_ in on the joke. 

At her frozen lack of response, the gentler of her two attendants takes a careful step forward. His soft voice is tinged with concern. "Your shoulder seems to be bothering you. Will you be needing assistance?" 

"Wh - _no!_ " she blurts, whirling around. " _You're_ the ones who -!" 

She cuts off in shock as the culprit - the bolder one - drops to one knee, head bowed. "Our _deepest_ apologies for the misunderstanding, Ambassador. We will of course refrain from such violent handling in the future."

The memory of his body pressing her into the ground - that low, dangerous _growl_ in her ear as his strength overpowered her - it seems so incongruous with the genuine sorrow she now feels in his voice, and in that little hum in her mind. The unexpected emotion brushes her consciousness, compelling. She can almost feel his thoughts. He had been responding to an assumed threat to the Prime, as is his duty. He would never use such force with a known devotee of the Light. 

The bold one lifts his head, to meet her eyes. She softens, in spite of herself. He looks so sincere… 

"...Unless a little force is _enjoyed_ , that is," he adds in a purr. 

She blinks. What was _that_ supposed to mean? - A puzzle for another time; she has more pressing issues to deal with. The patient one is still waiting behind her, expectant. None of the three have made any move to grant her privacy for the fitting. The Emperor's command is absolute; clearly, she is not getting out of this predicament with her dignity intact. 

Trying to ignore the spreading blush, she tugs up at the hem of her close-fitted tunic. The attendants say nothing, their imposing frames motionless - simply waiting for her to continue. _We're not even the same species,_ she reminds herself, and sets her jaw. _They’re not… ogling me. It's just custom. A diplomat adapts to the customs of her hosts._

With a deep breath, she pulls the tunic off - or tries to, at least.

The flash of pain in her shoulder draws an unbidden gasp. Her arm refuses to lift above her head; she finds herself pinned by her own covering, halfway up over her searing face. By the attendants’ curious head tilts, her cheeks must be a fascinating shade of scarlet by now. From her throat crawls a half-bitten groan of defeat. 

A towering figure is at her side in a moment. She flinches reflexively, but his touch is gentle - carefully supporting her shoulder as he pulls the cloth over her head. The sympathetic noise above her does absolutely nothing to quell her inward cringe. Standing before three massive aliens, wearing nothing but tight leggings and a breastband, is not her ideal vision of intergalactic relations.

The attendant moves behind her. As steadying hands rest behind her waist, she forces herself to let out the breath she’d been holding. His touch is careful, professional; he takes care with his claws, so that all she feels are broad palms and the pads of his fingers. Some of her tension eases, just a bit. 

_It’s fine. This is fine. Their species doesn’t even have females… I think. A half-naked woman probably means nothing to them._

She firmly ignores the little voice in the back of her mind, the one that points out how the gentle hands on her skin certainly _feel_ like a male of her own species. Just… much larger. And stronger. And… warm… but never mind that. 

A careful pair of claws hook into the leggings on either side of her waist.

“No need to strain yourself further, Ambassador,” comes the gentle voice behind her ear. “We are here to serve.”

The patient one nods encouragingly by the chaise. She shoots him a pleading look, but his quiet smile is impassive. Her attendant peels the fabric down her hips, and panic commandeers her limbs for the third time that hour. 

"- Nope!" she announces, and dives for the cover-draped chaise. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but fluff for this chapter. I'm feeling some homage in this "episode", to CruciferousJex's infamously excellent pre-season-5 Prime fic "The Attendant".

The next few seconds dissolve into a flurry of chaos. Her attendant’s claws are thoroughly embedded in the leggings, already halfway down her thighs; when she dives forward, the fabric does not follow. 

Both she and the clone give a yelp of surprise as she falls. She manages to grab the edge of the chaise, and in a burst of panic, simply pulls with all her might. Adrenaline does little to gloss over the spasm of pain in her shoulder. She bites back her sharp cry, frantically kicking her legs free of the half-shredded fabric snare - the sound bleeds out as a strained whine instead. Its weak sound is entirely lost in the sudden shouts of confusion. 

In her peripheral vision, she spots the bold one eagerly shift his stance. The gentle one, still holding the shreds of her leggings, shoots him a warning glare. The patient one, nearest her, seems as mortified as she; he has stepped back in shock, clearly wanting nothing to do with the chaotic scene before him. 

This clears her path to cover. The sleek-legged chaise is sized for much larger species than hers, standing some distance off the floor. She drops to the ground, and with a last few kicks to free her feet, skids beneath its blessed shadow. A moment later, her hand darts out to grab the draped silk hanging off the edge. Soon she is entirely hidden, wedged beneath the chaise and submerged in a pile of …admittedly quite luxuriant fabric, to be fair.

In the background, she hears her two attendants muttering to each other as the third cautiously peers under the edge of the chaise. She pulls back further against the wall, uncovering her head just long enough to hiss “ _Diplomatic immunity!”_ through gritted teeth. 

“Er… Ambassador, that’s not…” he attempts cautiously.

“I don’t _care_ if that’s not how it works - you’re not dragging me out!” She does her best to hide the tremble in her voice behind a determined growl. “Not even if Prime himself waltzes in here -”

The patient one goes still, eyes wide. At first, she wonders if she’s offended him; but then, she spots the little shiver - his eyes flutter closed - then open again, glowing. In that instant, his entire _being_ appears to shift. 

The servant has disappeared; now, she is face-to-face with a god.

She shrinks back in her pile of blankets as the Prime himself smirks at her. His borrowed face disappears above the edge of the chaise. Then, the roof of her hideout shifts - as he calmly settles himself above her. 

She hears his weight shift into a recline; a clawed hand drapes over the edge, as casually as if he were stretched out on a poolside lounge. His familiar voice, strong and resonant, addresses the two remaining clones: “What seems to be the commotion, my Brothers?”

"Lord Prime," murmur two voices in unison. Then, the bold one's stronger timbre continues. "The Ambassador appears to have certain objections to being disrobed."

"And why was she being disrobed?" purrs the Prime. 

There is a long pause. She imagines her attendants looking at each other, confused. The gentle one shifts as he speaks. "To be fitted for the more appropriate vestments you ordered, Lord Prime."

"Ah… how unfortunate." Prime's deep chuckle above her resonates through her hiding space. "It seems I neglected to mention… our guest's body scan was already recorded by the transporter logs."

She bites down on a fold of cloth to hold back a screech. 

"I may know all, but I cannot expect my Brothers to share my omniscience." His claws tap a rolling pattern into the chaise frame above her. That purr in his voice deepens. "It seems these misunderstandings are bound to occur… when one's desires are left unspoken." 

She grits her teeth. Her hands twitch with the urge to _strangle_ the swatch of slippery fabric in front of her. _Says the one who can read minds…!_

Prime shifts in his seat to drape his legs over the edge of the chaise. He chuckles again. "...But what a charming result. _Prey_ species do have a tendency to hide themselves, when they feel… vulnerable."

_...Which includes my mind, as of today._

With a sweep of robes, he stands. "Poor thing…" purrs that sultry voice. "It can't be comfortable, wedged beneath the chaise like that. - Brothers?"

The two attendants' footsteps approach. She realizes the intent a moment too late to object; by the time her squeak of protest has emerged, one end of the chaise has already lifted into the air. The gentler attendant smiles apologetically down at her, effortlessly bearing the weight with one arm. A tiny whine escapes her as she burrows deeper into her pile of silks. 

As the bold one lowers to a kneel - within reach of her cover - Prime takes a calm step back. The Emperor’s borrowed form seems to loom from an even greater height than the others, despite the identical build - his Presence fills the room, emanating from that regal poise. He clasps his hands behind him, and smirks. “No sudden movements, my Brother. She might _bolt_ again.”

Bolt _where?_ She is entirely cornered, and almost entirely nude, save for smallclothes and her makeshift nest. As the attendant extends a hand, she shrinks back against the wall and clutches the silks around her. Huge shoulders cast her in shadow; her eyes dart between the three of them. "W-what are you doing? ...You're not going to _pounce_ this time, right?" 

The bold one leans closer to the ground, to her eye level. His hand hovers in the air near her head, not advancing, but not retreating either. “Honored guest. Please allow us to move you somewhere more comfortable.”

 _“Clothes_ would make me more comfortable,” she mutters. 

"Such deep-running prey instincts." Prime leans forward slightly, hands still behind his back. The glow in his eyes is even more brilliant in the chaise’s shadow. "Why hide your body, after baring your soul…?" 

She groans, and pulls the silk over her head entirely. _Just kill me now…_

“It’s all right, small one." The kneeling attendant's voice is low, soothing. "You may keep the silks until your new robes are ready.”

Small blessings must be appreciated where given. She sighs, and braces to be plucked from her shelter. Instead, the weight of the bold one's hand rests lightly over her head. Her shoulders stiffen - she suppresses a slight whimper of pain at the resulting twinge - but he keeps still, letting her feel the warmth of his broad palm through her silken cowl. 

Is that… purring? His thrum is different from the Prime’s, not as deep or penetrating, but so soft and sweet. Soothing impressions, more abstract than thought, melt in through the parallel hum at the edge of her mind. _Small one. Soft one. Safe now. Shhh…_

An arm slides carefully beneath her. He gathers her up in a bundle - fabric and all - lifting her gently from the floor, a cocoon of silks and strong, steady arms. 

A soft thump announces that the chaise has returned to the floor. Moments later, its cushion is beneath her; she keeps herself curled, refusing to spread out on the ample surface. A weight settles beside her hip. 

"Another excellent capture, my Brother." The Prime chuckles at his own joke. Through the silk, she feels him stroke her head a few times - then, ever so gently, run the back of a claw down her body's curve. "Poor creature… have you been trembling like this all the while?" 

The hand returns to her head, gently pulling back just enough fabric to stroke her hair. It is an allowable concession. The chaise is, admittedly, far more comfortable than the floor. 

"The comforts of the Empire can be intimidating at first. I hope you will learn to accept them." Prime leans in closer to her face. The warmth of his smile makes it so easy to forget the fangs. 

"You _will_ learn…" he purrs, "...not to hide yourself from _me."_

Then, he is gone. His Presence lifts from the servant like a cloak, leaving behind a shiver and an expression of quiet bliss. Gone - from her perception, at least. 

She holds no further delusions that she is gone from his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glorious Yunta has BLESSED us with [this delight!](https://poipiku.com/24765/2710004.html?10954)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going for a deliberate "forced pampering" vibe for maximum gratuitous bullshit. CW: As expected for this genre, consent is dubious at best.

She leans her side against a wall of purring warmth. Mercifully, her attendants have procured her a dressing gown. It is, of course, far too large - its heavy silk engulfs her body. Perfect. 

It is easier now to forget, for the moment, that she is something between prisoner and plaything.

She has conceded to drawing the covering just off her injured shoulder. Tingling coolness sinks into the muscle beneath massaging fingers. Whatever is in this salve, it feels heavenly. Occasionally, a new knot surfaces, and a whimper of pain escapes her; but the gentle one's expert hands smooth over her skin, firm and warm, banishing the tension, and her whimper melts into a groan of relief.

An arm is curled around her waist, and a huge palm strokes over her hair in comfort each time she whines. She lets the bold one draw her closer against his rumbling chest as the gentle one leans in to work his magic on her shoulder. Sitting on either side of her hips, the two broad frames submerge her; and yet, she no longer feels trapped. This species has such a soothing purr... so relaxing, it feels nearly hypnotic. What was she afraid of again...?

Ah, yes. The fact that either of them could effortlessly snap her spine like a twig.

She silently marvels at this one's skill in keeping his claws off her skin - only a light graze here and there, almost pleasant. The pain has long since ebbed away by now, and she finds herself giving little murmurs and sighs of enjoyment - even as his touch moves behind her shoulder, skating just slightly beneath the edge of her robe.

"Turn, please," comes the soft voice above her head. “There is excessive tension in your upper back. You may have sustained additional injury.”

"Oh. Um. ...You don't... have to... I'm fine…" Her voice trails off into an awkward mumble as he wraps huge hands over both her shoulders, firmly turning her to face into his Brother's chest. A strained groan escapes her as he starts rubbing between her shoulder blades. 

"We are here to attend your needs, Ambassador." There is something insistent in his gentle tone.

" _Any_ need," adds the other helpfully, skimming his claws through her hair. She still doesn't understand his strange asides, or the mental smirk that often accompanies them. For the moment, though, the grip kneading towards her neck draws more attention. It counterbalances with the pressure between her shoulder blades, pushing her body forward into his thrumming frame. At this angle, the pads of her masseur's thumbs reach well down her back, even as gentle claws skim her collarbones. Will she ever stop feeling so tiny, so fragile, beneath their hands? 

…Does she _want_ that feeling to stop?

She gives herself a mental shake. Who would _want_ to feel powerless? Certainly not an intergalactic Ambassador for peace. A foreign dignitary must be poised, respectable, diplomatic… and above all, self-reliant. Fake or not, that role is all that holds her together. 

Without it, she would have to acknowledge that she is completely at the mercy of the Galactic Horde… a people not known for their gentleness. 

How strange, then, for this to feel so… _good._ Returning from the distraction of her thoughts, she catches herself all but melting against the bold one's chest as the other kneads into her back with increasing force. It is a great deal more difficult to hold back her voice, now, with that strength nearly pressing it out of her lungs...

Her breath hitches as the touch finds a particularly stubborn knot. A thumb presses around it experimentally, drawing a whine through her closed throat. Behind her, the attendant gives a thrum of concern. “This will worsen if not addressed. Please breathe deeply.”

At the edge of her mind, his subtle “hum” seems to expand with her lungs. _Inhale. Hold. Exhale._

She is, at least, getting used to the hivemind. Her connection is weak, limited by proximity; but when others are as near as her attendants are now, it swells into a shifting harmony of abstract feeling. She can feel the other, too, for some reason apparently quite _enjoying_ her little shiver against him… _Relax yourself, small one…_ That odd mental smirk again. 

As she releases her breath, the force in her back bears down _hard_ \- wrenching far more than an exhale from her lungs. She is helpless to bite back a cry; but as the pressure sinks in, so too does the coolness of the salve - that straining knot of resistance gives way - and in the flood of endorphins, her voice melts into a full-throated moan. 

The force relents, letting her fill her lungs again with a deep gasp. Heat prickles in her cheeks at the wayward noise. Just as she resolves to suppress any further indignities, the hand presses in again, smoothing over the still-shuddering remains of the knot - with each stroke the coolness seeps further, relief spreading out through her body - and she moans openly into a thrumming chest. 

_Gods, I hope these rooms are soundproof…!_ There is no biting back now. The once-gentle touch is unrelenting, seeking out and eliminating each knot of tension one by one, like a strike force hunting down dissident camps. Flooding endorphins wreak havoc through her system, washing over the pain with heady pleasure. She can barely catch her breath, let alone the wanton mewls and moans - panting between each kneading stroke - her flush deepens at the thought of how suggestive her noises must sound to anyone walking through the halls. 

One could conjure up all number of lewd scenarios from these sounds - unbidden, her thoughts flicker to the memory of how that broad, muscular frame felt on top of her - the unyielding strength of those arms gripping her close, the heavy breathing in her ear - the same body that now muffles her moans with its purr, curling around her, against her - the same breathing that seems to grow heavier above her ear even now, as the same arms squeeze her limp, boneless form - and, oh, the _power_ in these hands on her skin! When had her dressing gown slipped down her back…? She can’t bring herself to care, beneath the shivering pleasure of unimpeded touch - for the barest instant, she wonders what that touch might feel like elsewhere on her body - 

_Contain yourself! Gods, they’re a different species! - And twice your size!_ The scenario is unthinkable, even disregarding the obvious. Her attendants have been unflappably professional with her, so polite… and attentive… and warm…

No. She is _not_ here for _those_ sorts of intergalactic relations! 

A deep, purring resonance rises to engulf her mind, like an ancient subsonic hum finally entering the audible register.

_Hmmm…? Are you certain of that, my little Ambassador?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the Ambassador for putting all her points into "horny" and none into "perception" or "critical thinking" :P Dubcon's gonna dubcon, she will clearly never take the chance to snog an alien unless someone shoves her into it.
> 
> pls sir i have but one braincell, what is flirting
> 
> I was inspired by Yunta's [adorable Ambassador fanart](https://poipiku.com/24765/2710004.html?10954) linked previously, and was in the mood to draw something similar.   
> Here's a less anxy [massage scene](https://imgur.com/a/eMkLfBW); poor bby needs to just relax and bliss out. (I still like Yunta's piece more, but this one has more *squish* :P )


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever as I kept rearranging it... trying to avoid having the buildup (to Ambassador finally getting a clue) be just one long stretch of awkward. I failed. 
> 
> If it seems implausible for her to be THIS clueless about being seduced... I could relay a few IRL tales of such unfathomable dumbassery, it calls into question how the human species has ever managed to reproduce.

_If any stray thought could threaten intergalactic relations,_ she mulls, _this Ambassador farce is well and truly screwed._

She walks in a haze, as seems to be the trend for her today. Occasionally, one of the hands behind her shoulders drifts just a bit further down, grazing the still-tingling area between her shoulder blades. Her ongoing flush casts a vibrant complement to the new vestments' green accents. The fit is, of course, perfect. 

At least she was able to change in private this time - though she tries not to think about exactly _when_ the robes arrived at her suite, and what suggestive noises the courier may have heard. The Emperor's ambiguous summons looms larger in her mind. _It appears you yet remain shrouded in confusion. Allow me to enlighten you in person._

Vaulted halls pass in a blur, her attention locked in a spiral of cringing. The abstract sweetness of the hivemind's hum has until now obscured its obvious drawback: others may pick up on _her_ feelings as well. Prime has seen her brief slips of imagination in full detail; that much is mortifyingly clear. How much, then, did her attendants sense? Their passive expressions let on nothing; she doesn’t dare “listen” to their hums, for fear of further projecting her own shame-ridden state. 

Judging by the grandeur of this suite's entrance chamber, it seems she will soon be… “enlightened”. She idly wonders if that means something fatal. Unlikely, that Prime would be so merciful at this point. 

From the room beyond, his sonorous voice floats in. “You may enter.”

At the gentle nudge behind her shoulders, she manages to unroot her frozen feet from the floor. Her vision takes a moment to adjust as they leave the stark white lighting of the hall. The first thing she sees is the glow of his eyes; in the softly lit space, that luminescence commands all focus. 

The Conqueror of Galaxies awaits them in style. His personal suite shares the flagship's aesthetic of vaulted ceilings and clean palette, drawing the eye to its sole occupant. He sits comfortably, legs crossed, in a grand padded chair. Well - _any_ seat capable of bearing his imposing frame must be grand; but this one seems particularly lounge-worthy, its high back and wide arms not unlike a throne. 

"Ah, your new robes arrived. Excellent." Languidly, he smiles and beckons her closer. "Let's have a look at you."

Her face burns as she steps forward from the relative safety of her attendants' broad shadows. The heavy, layered silken robes are not unlike the design of the crisp white Horde uniforms, with their dual leg slits and floor-length skirts; but their wide, flowing sleeves nearly cover her hands, in the traditional style of her homeworld's eminent officials. The ceremonial grandeur feels like a costume on her - only appropriate to her masquerade.

“ _Much_ more fitting for your station.” He smiles broader, and motions as if stirring an invisible drink - drawing a slow circle parallel to the floor. “Allow me to appreciate the full ensemble for a moment. Turn.”

She has made an attempt to tug the crossed front higher, but it is obviously cut to drape just off her shoulders, exposing her collarbones and the back of her neck. That bare skin feels all the more vulnerable as she slowly spins in place. Only then, taking in her surroundings as she turns, does she realize that this vaulted room is the Imperial bedchamber. That particular fixture, its white silk spread sized for an Emperor, is impossible to miss.

“I hope all is to your liking, Ambassador... particularly, your new attendants.” The Emperor’s resonant voice continues from behind her as she turns. “These two are of my Chosen, and highly skilled… yet, you seem reluctant to avail yourself of their services.”

Facing the chair again, she sees her attendants have drawn close as if to savor their ruler’s presence. Prime extends a hand to each, bestowing an affectionate stroke beneath two eager chins. "It’s all right, my 'Brothers'…" he coos to them. “The small one will learn to bask in the Light as you do.”

She shifts on her feet, confused. “Lord Prime, I’ve been… availing...” A renewed blush rises through her cheeks at the familiar gesture of affection before her - or rather, at the sensual images from the throne room that now invade her memory. She stamps down the intrusion. “They’re… very good masseurs? If that’s what you mean.”

With fluid grace, the Emperor uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his seat. The shift brings him closer to her eye level - a closeness he wields to its full advantage. 

"So desperate to hide…" he murmurs. That calm, assured gaze may as well be a branding iron. He steeples his fingers before him, wearing an expression of outright concern. "...Even from your own thoughts." 

A steel claw takes her chin, forcing her face to stay level, as his eyes burn into her. "Come, Ambassador. Such rigid prey instincts will not serve you here. Let us lift this shroud.” 

He straightens, and pats his thigh - well above the level of her hip. Before she can even process his words, let alone determine how to clamber up in these robes, a pair of broad hands close around her waist. She gives an involuntary squeak as the helpful attendant lifts her into the air like a particularly ornate mannequin. Soon, she is deposited directly into the lap of the Ruler of the Known Universe. 

“They are clones of me, after all.” Prime watches her blush with a slow smirk, resting his chin on one hand, casually propped on the chair's cushioned arm. “If you found them unappealing, I would question your taste.” 

It is quite a challenge to maintain a formal posture in this seat. “O-of course. They’re very gracious.” She clings to this little anxiety of poise, far more comfortable than the rest that threaten to engulf her. 

Guilt curls in her belly. Her attendants are gracious indeed, and warm - even after her intrusion on that private moment in the throne room. And her unhinged, inappropriate thoughts ever since… what must they _think_ of her? When will that looming judgment finally drop? It is agonizing to wait for her rebuke. Squirming in suspense, she drops her gaze - which, of course, is no help, as she now stares directly into Prime’s powerful chest.

Half-bare, the dusky blue skin only emphasizes his Godlike confidence. _His_ flesh is never exposed, never vulnerable... only _flaunted._ What she’d spied upon was _beautiful,_ not lurid; but it was never meant for _her_ eyes.

...Was it?

Fangs glint from the spreading smile above her. "At last," purrs the Prime. "Let there be light."

 _Infrared,_ she remembers, through her muddled haze. Could he have _known?_ Could he have _meant_ to show her such a thing? The idea is unfathomable. Does she dare _ask?_

Given the unbarred state of her mind… it seems she just did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was excruciating. Don't worry, it's almost time for the porn, I promise.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Let there be light. _

Infrared. She swallows, slowly, and closes her eyes. She has  _ never  _ been invisible - not to the Prime. Which means...

“I like to leave a stirring first impression on my guests.” The Emperor’s broad, sharp smile is somehow  _ audible,  _ even with her eyes closed. She opens them again to look up as an arm settles around her waist, steadying her - or perhaps trapping her. Perhaps there is no difference.

“...But… you thought I was a... spy.” She stumbles over the words, as simple as they are. Why would he share something so private with someone he believed to be an  _ enemy? _

“The first impression may be the last as well.” His eyes, as always, look as dangerous as his fangs. “All the more reason to make it… memorable.”

Her attendants lean in to nuzzle at their ruler from either side, seeming entirely unbothered to have been used for such a… demonstration. Had they even known they were on display?

“Evangelism takes many forms,” supplies the softer of the two, with a shy smile. He turns his face back into Prime’s shoulder and thrums. “It is an honor to serve.”

“My Chosen are  _ highly  _ skilled evangelists,” Prime adds with a purr. The muscled support shifts beneath her; Prime picks up that leg to cross it over the other, lifting her full weight on his thigh as if she is a paper doll. The arm around her waist pulls her in closer. Cradled against his chest, she can feel the thrum of his voice seeping into her tense form. “Go on, my ‘Brothers’. You have spread my Light well, have you not? There is no arrogance in sharing your qualifications.”

The bolder of the two attendants gives a slight bow of assent, then straightens to address her. He wears a look of professional pride, as if describing technician certs: “It is so, Ambassador. I have extensive experience with a number of sexual configurations - including, of course, ones matching that of your own species.”

She chokes. Is this her method of execution after all? - To simply die of embarrassment? 

“There are many who welcome His light,” adds the gentle one, with a bow of his own. “An honored few may even receive His personal blessing.”

"W-what - you can't mean -" She is suddenly  _ very  _ conscious of the intimate way Prime's arm wraps around her, holding her against his bare chest. Her heart thuds as she feels the low rumble of his laugh. 

With his other arm, her captor reaches out to stroke the softer attendant's face. "It seems more clarity is needed… yet our guest seems skittish to learn first-hand. If memory serves, she might enjoy watching the two of you." He gestures to the silk-draped bed. That expanse would dominate the room, if not for the vast Presence of the Prime's own smooth purr. "Perhaps... a demonstration of a Chosen’s talents?"

The two attendants bow in perfect unison, then step back from the chair. The bolder one looks to the other with a grin. "It would be our pleasure, Lord Prime."

As that one slides an arm around his now-blushing 'Brother', their captive audience gapes in shock. Every beat of her pattering heart seems to pump straight into her face; she now radiates a wild flush. Before her wide eyes, the bold one pulls in for a deep, enthusiastic kiss, drawing a shameless moan from his partner. It is obvious, now; they  _ must  _ be trying to kill her - via blood loss to the cheeks. 

“Y-you don’t have to -  _ show  _ me!” she stammers in a panic, waving her hands wildly in front of her face. “I - I should go - I don’t want to distract you…!”

“Nonsense,” purrs the Emperor from behind her. He leans back comfortably in the chair, pulling her with him. “It is a host’s duty to keep guests informed of available amenities.”

Before them, the subjects have already crossed to the bed, leaving a trail of crisp white robes strewn in component pieces across the short stretch of floor. She covers her face with her hands and emits a noise embarrassingly near a squeak. Her body is tensed like a frozen animal - every muscle begs to leap from Prime’s lap and run for cover. She feels his arm tighten around her, as if he can read the thought before it even travels from her body to her mind. He lowers his head to murmur directly into her ear. 

“No  _ hiding _ this time, my little voyeur.”

Hiding her eyes is useless as well, as she soon discovers. The moans of the one beneath are ardent and captivating, pouring straight from her ears into her core. She pulls up her knees, wrapping her arms around the long skirts of her robes to avoid squirming, and risks a furtive glance - only to bury her face back into her hands as the softer one moans again and arches up from the bed, craning his bared throat against the other’s lips. The tight black undershirt is hiked up further as the bold one’s roving hand slides up his chest.

“You are a curious case, Ambassador…” Prime muses calmly, as if observing a light waltz. “Even chipped converts embrace the hivemind with ease. It fascinates me… that a free-willed admirer of my Light would struggle."

“I - I’m not -  _ struggling, _ I’m just…” She squirms in his lap as the sounds of heavy breathing and tongue-slicked skin join the moans. “I-it’s - I can’t - this isn’t  _ meant _ to be shared!”

“Oh, my small one.” His voice is soft, almost soothing, as he wraps both arms around her body. “You are so  _ accustomed _ to being invisible.”

From deep within her mind, that thrumming Presence rises. Not from the edges, entering; it has never left. His voice carries his resonance even without sound.  _ So accustomed,  _ he continues,  _ to being unseen… or at least… believing you are. _

For that moment, just as in the throne room, the Prime engulfs her entire being. He suffuses her mind like fine oil, seeping into every crevice, every ragged edge. The Presence is so overpowering, it eclipses the warmth of his rumbling body against her. 

_ You ensnare your thoughts in the shadows of shame and fear. Cast them out, that you may be filled with my Light.  _

To her, the hivemind's hum has been no more than the soft murmur of a trickling stream. Only now, through the Prime, does she hear the roar of its great river - dozens,  _ hundreds _ of minds - for a moment she is captured by the current, a helpless shred of flotsam lost from her body in a sea of experiences passing too quickly to register -  _ stars ships pacing glow hands praise cannon teeth controls attack green sync vitrine tongue  _ \- then, a vast force sweeps her up, lifts her just above the current - she clings to it as the river narrows and slows, until there is only she, and Him, and then, two others - two steady points of Light, swirling around each other, glowing, thrumming,  _ pulsing _ -

_ I will show you. _

She falls.

_ He moans beneath the avid touch of his ‘Brother’, a trail of lips and tongue on his heaving chest. As claws draw down at the waist of his tights, stirring apprehension adds a layer of toothsome depth to his excitement. He glances to the side, to their watching ruler, to draw courage from His eyes.  _

_ The Prime, glory be, lays blessing upon their display with His steady smile. And there, the small one - oh, the sweet little thing, quaking in His arms - she looks so lost in those heavy robes - eyes wide and unfocused, lips parted for the little whimpers that scatter with every breath - he can feel her here with him, welcomes her to experience their devotion through the offering of his own body - and his tights peel down his hips, as the tongue slides down the lines of his abdomen. _

_ Feel, small one. Bask with us in the radiance of His gaze.  _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using slightly different anatomy than TDP, because I encountered something more fun that I wanted to play with. CW: WEIRD ALIEN BITS :D

_Feel with us._

And she _does,_ so fully that she is not sure who is whom. She feels every flicker of the other attendant's breath as his mouth travels down the line of her - his? their? - inner hip; feels his claws grazing down their thighs as he peels off the tights… and then… then, oh, the slick warmth of his tongue, on… on… 

On _what,_ exactly…? 

The wave of pleasure from their crux is, to her, confusing and alien. Her host trills, and angles their hips wantonly against the other's mouth, reveling in the sensation. What is this… _pressure?_

_He trills again as his 'Brother' draws a line of wet heat along his closed sheath. His body gives no resistance; the opening peels back beneath the questing tongue, allowing his slick member to push forth. He shivers and whines at the relief from the pressure. His fellow Chosen gives a warm thrum, deft flicks of sensation encouraging him to emerge fully - and then, he is engulfed._

_He manages a glance down, panting, to watch that tongue bathe his own pliant length. The pointed tip curls in response, wrapping around the other's tongue in a lewd, open kiss - fluids mingle as the willful flesh slides and swirls - a rush of blooming pleasure - he lets his head fall back, rolling his hips, moaning long and loud -_

A rush of incomprehensible sensation strikes panic through her tight-strung mind. By some reflex of flight, she flings her consciousness away from the two - only to find herself plunged back into the current of that great river of feeling. 

The roar engulfs her, a hundred impressions at once; she drowns in shapes, colors, sensations, thoughts. Her own thoughts tumble wildly in the instants between minds. _Please,_ she chokes, voiceless, into the unyielding cacophony - _Please - mercy -_

As before, a vast force of will scoops her from the current like wreckage from a storm. _Ah, but of course you flee…_ purrs the Presence. _Yet, to where?_

The gentle chiding is more amused than stern. Insensate, she clutches at the Presence with all her tattered shreds of will. It wraps around her, reassuring, gathering up the flailing, ragged edges of her that still mewl into the void. 

_Was it too much for you? Oh, my fragile creature..._ Soothing tendrils of Presence wash through her mind. _I see now, why you hide. So much feeling could tear you apart._

With care, she is poured back into her own body. It takes some effort, tucking the torn edges in to fit. Her senses are reluctant to return; for many moments, she is unaware of her own twitching gasps. 

_It's all right, small one. I have you now._

There is warmth against her, firm and steady. It anchors her awareness of her own body. She leans into it gratefully as her nerves reawaken, pressing herself to the rumbling surface, feeling the warmth wrap closer around her. A gentle weight moves over her hair. Absolute bliss. Perhaps she has expired after all? With an afterlife like this, she would hardly complain.

_I hope you enjoyed your travels, Ambassador. Full immersion is such a valuable diplomatic experience… it offers such perspective on one’s own position._

She opens her eyes. A living god smirks down at her, and squeezes her tighter.

Ah, yes. Her own position. Now that the last of her formal composure has abandoned her, she is free to contemplate the unimaginable awe of her current place - held in the lap of the Emperor of the Known Universe. His broad hand strokes casually over her hair, as if petting a trill-cub; his other arm encloses her entire body, which she now realizes is curled into a shivering ball. Her shrinking pose only emphasizes his vastness - the breadth of the rumbling chest against her cheek; the powerful arms surrounding her. The embrace of a god would be nirvana… if it weren't so _terrifying._

Apparently, the two on the bed have paused; though she dares not look towards them, she feels their hum of questing concern at the edge of her mind. Prime lifts his smirking gaze from her face to present a placid smile in their direction. "All is well. As you were, my Chosen."

No further encouragement is needed; the sensation of concern melts into something entirely more lewd. She squeaks, and hides her face… against… oh. _Oh, stars_. She freezes in place as she realizes her mistake. Pressing her face into Prime's chest - firm, warm, _bare_ cobalt skin - does _not_ improve her self-consciousness. 

A finger tugs up on her chin, lifting her reddened face from his chest. "I would hate for you to miss this," purrs the Prime. His hold shifts. Quite firmly, he re-seats her in his lap to face outward - arm still wrapped firmly around her. "Watch, Ambassador," comes his voice above her ear. "See what I offer you."

Even without the command, she is helpless but to obey - transfixed by the alien beauty of the scene before her. 

Her attendants have thrown decorum aside with their robes. The one beneath has his head thrown back, spine arched off the bed, his breathy moans split with heavy panting. His partner gives a hungry growl, muffled between spread thighs. That one, the bolder one, glances back at her - and _smiles._ He holds her eyes with a deliberate, seductive gaze, as he bathes the gentler one's squirming length with his tongue.

_So it is green after all…_

She could never admit to the curiosity sparked by the earlier display in the throne room; but now, from this privileged seat, she has far more than a stolen glimpse and furtive imagination. That deceptive cleft of smooth cobalt skin has parted, to release a tapered, tongue-like member like nothing she has ever seen on her own world. Its considerable length drips with a thick green coating, giving a beautiful gradient of color over the firmer blue core; but the green glow is not what has her so mesmerized _._ The vibrant flesh _moves_ with a will of its own. It wraps eagerly around the bold one’s tongue, responding to the attention with as much shameless abandon as its keening owner.

Even as she stares, her attention swirls in conflict; the planes of Prime’s body are no less distracting against her back. His massive forearm rests across her chest like a steel girder. She finds herself gripping him in her shock, fingertips digging in through his sleeve. The realization brings a jolt of horror, and she jerks her improper hands away from the Emperor's arm; but he seems, if anything, more delighted than disapproving of her slip of attention. "As if one so delicate could harm Me…" he chuckles. His other arm stays wrapped around her waist, holding her to the warmth of chest, as he leans down to her ear. 

"I so rarely hold such a treasure as a free-willed mind...” The Prime's soft, silken voice is warm on her skin. “I grant you My grace. You will honor your body’s whim... for Me." 

She is his subject of study; his command is not to be denied. Hesitantly, she brings her hands back up to his forearm. Her grip cannot even begin to wrap around the firm cords of muscle, but squeezing him does seem to help her nerves somewhat. 

Here, at least, is something solid she can cling to... even if it is the arm of the Conqueror of Galaxies himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a doodle of this scene that started out as just a lulzy cartoon for my own amusement and ended up actually turning out pretty hot. [Clicky here for kinda-smut](https://i.imgur.com/m6NS3LN.png)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes my writing has some level of meaningful symbolism; other times it's just weird alien smut. Past this point is entirely the latter. If graphic imagery of speculative anatomy is not your vibe, no worries - see you in the next fic <3

She has a far more intimate view than her eyes alone could give. 

Within their bubble of hivemind, the air is electric. Her augmented sense blooms with emotion and reaction from the two on the bed, just as captivating as the cobalt spread of skin on skin. She pulls her knees closer to her chest, silently commanding her heart to stop thumping at such a wild pace. She has only a flickering hint of the sensations in the clones' bodies, but the mental buzz of pleasure is as clear and vibrant as the moans. 

She tastes the hum of excitement from them both - not only aware of their audience, but welcoming her, inviting her to watch, to _feel_ as they do. The two relish each other like secret lovers, but from the eager thrumming in her mind, it seems their greatest thrill is from the display itself. There is no indignity in their nakedness. Thick cords of muscle flex across the bold one’s shoulders and back as he works his oral talents; his Brother is braced up off the bed by his forearms, panting, heedless of the twitching in his sleek legs and the heaving of his sculpted chest. These are bodies cast in the image of Perfection, twin specimens of power and grace - living tributes to their statuesque progenitor. The same being who now holds her small, trembling frame to his chest.

The bold one thirsts to show his talents for the Prime and honored guest. For _her._ Though her heated face is buried in Prime’s sleeve, she sneaks a glance. The open delight in his eyes - so earnest - _oh, the precious thing, see how cautiously she peeks -_

With a willful stroke, he takes the slick mouthful deep into his throat. She feels, in tandem, the rush of pleasure from the other, and the way the bold one _exults_ in that feedback, giving a muffled but satisfied groan as he massages the length with his tongue. The other pushes his hips up into the sensation with abandon. Prime gives a low thrum of approval behind her; that exultant hum in her mind then blooms into rapture. Just the _sound_ of their lord's pleasure is, for them, a bliss on par with any physical touch. 

They share themselves so readily; and yet, the Prime's focus is not there on the bed, but here - on _her,_ squirming nervously in his lap. She will _not_ allow this insistent heat to take hold between her hips - not _here,_ disgracing her station atop the Emperor himself. Her mortifying position alone should drive the heat away - yet, as the powerful arm shifts against her, the clench of apprehension in her core only seems to stoke her further. 

She is not the audience; she never was. She is the one on display. 

"Brothers…" Prime purrs warmly, as he strokes the top of her head. The gesture more holds her in place than comforts her. "Let us not neglect the configuration more _relevant_ to our guest."

 _Configuration?_ She peers just a little further from behind the cover of Prime's forearm. The bold one thrums assent around his throatful, and withdraws. His mouth comes away dripping with green from the pliant shaft’s coating - a thick fluid he keenly spreads with his tongue, slicking his partner's inner thighs and crux. 

The gentle one is whimpering; his willful length seems loath to relinquish attention. It curls hungrily around the bold one's hand, refusing to lay flat against its owner's abdomen where it is pressed. The movement seems entirely unbidden, as he keeps the rest of his body still - only mewls softly and curls his fingers into the sheets, his breathing shallow. He looks to them with his lower lip between his teeth, and seems to replenish his confidence through Prime's gaze; enough, at least, to let his eyes fall closed, and allow the other to press his shivering thighs wider. 

Beneath their lord's consecrating sight, there is nothing to hide. There is nothing _left_ to hide. 

She can at least afford herself a little curiosity. An ambassador should learn what she can about her hosts… especially hosts of an alien species. So she watches, as the bold one draws his tongue down the underside of his partner's open sheath. Unassuming, the slit extends below, almost hidden by seeping arousal. Then, with a few teasing flicks, it _unfurls._

The cobalt skin parts in a fringe of fluid green tendrils, soft and translucent - and between those spreading fronds, the bolder attendant zealously buries his face. She makes no attempt to pick up her jaw as she stares. Something warmer than fascination draws her upright, shyness forgotten. Some part of her still laments the pulsing in her core - but it only follows the rhythm of the gentle one’s scattered little gasps.

He twitches, whines softly - his claws tense in the sheets - muscles shift across his tensed core, his length twitching beneath his partner’s hand - she tilts her head in hope of a clearer glimpse, but she can only see the swirling fronds caressing the bold one’s cheek as he presses forward, jaw stretched wide. Slick noises ignite more than just her curiosity - to know what that long, tapered tongue is doing - and then, the gentle one’s whine swells into a _wail._

Through their little hivemind, the intense wave of feeling is enough to jolt her backwards. Directly into Prime’s chest, of course. Heat floods her face - stars forbid her anxieties leave her for even a _moment_ \- but with it, spine-tingling recognition. Before, plunged into the gentle one’s experience as he emerged from his sheath, the sensations had been distressingly alien. But, this churning pleasure at the edge of her mind… this, she _knows._ She has only had lovers of her own species, her own world… but the thrill of being _entered_ transcends the bounds of galaxies. 

Her own breath comes quick and shallow as deep gasps and moans rise from the bed. She can’t tear her eyes away, now. The supine attendant clutches the sheets, head back, chest heaving, shaking legs clamped behind the other’s shoulders. Do they _all_ have ...both… _configurations?_ What other secrets might this species show her? How deep does that tongue reach? - Light and shadows, what in the void is she _thinking?_

Prime gives a low chuckle, shifting against her back. His forearm tightens around her; she realizes abruptly how hard she has been clutching him. Despite her squeeze - and the intensity of the display before them - his voice above her head has the smooth, steady warmth of a finely aged bourbon. 

“A species of clones would indeed share identical anatomy, Ambassador… though preferred configuration may differ. As for your other questions...” How is it so easy to _hear_ his smirk? “I’ll leave those for you to discover.”

 _Clones. Right._ She wrinkles her brow. Despite identical appearance, her attendants have all had such varied personalities that she can tell them apart by voice alone. Even now, the bold one’s muffled growl is a rumbling contrast to the gentle one’s high open moans. That deep, ardent noise only worsens the embarrassing pulse between her legs...

“Any mind is malleable when fresh, small one… even those of my own genetic stock. I enjoy some variety among my Chosen in particular.” Prime’s armored claw strokes her tense shoulder - as unnerving as his ongoing habit of answering her thoughts as if spoken aloud. “After all, evangelism is best... tailored... to one’s audience.”

He pauses, allowing the nearby mewls of rising need to fill his silence. After a moment, his voice lifts to address the others. "Your worship honors me, Brothers. I grant my blessing..." He extends an arm towards them with a languid flourish, as if bestowing a gift. 

"...Fuck him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more perfectly-casual conversation on Prime's idea of "evangelism". :P
> 
> Also, here's a... [helpful diagram...](https://imgur.com/a/vuNGL2C) for the "fronds" described. Purely for clarification purposes. :">


	13. Chapter 13

_You are granted my blessing to fuck._

The bold one groans deep in his throat, a rising noise of unleashed lust.

Liquidy fronds stroke his face as he pulls back, with deliberate slowness - allowing them to cling to his withdrawing tongue. Once bereft, the fringe spreads open in a splay of green, softly swaying as if grasping for more. 

The gentle one props up on his elbows to lock eyes with his partner, lip between his teeth, as his widespread legs tremble to either side of the inviting display. A moment later, the other is upright on his haunches, pulling him up into an avid clash of tongues. 

"...As I was saying," Prime continues smoothly, "Evangelism is a subtle art." His hand returns to petting her - this time stroking with the backs of his fingers, ever so softly, down her cheek. "No two worlds are alike - no two cultures; no two _minds."_

She swallows, still gripping his sleeve against her ribs. Her stare feels locked on the attendants as if with a tractor beam, helpless to pull away. Panicked questions swirl through her head; but his hand is so _warm,_ so soothing in its steadiness. A barely-audible whine escapes from low in her chest. Perhaps, just for a moment, she could lean into this generous touch. Perhaps she might not be _immediately_ consumed. 

On the bed, the clones push their muscled frames together - the other has emerged from his sheath in full resplendence - twin lengths entwine in an echo of the tongues above, slick, sliding, pressed between grinding hips. Arms clasp tight around shoulders and waists as if to squeeze the breath from their duet of moans. She finds herself echoing the squeeze with her thighs, desperate to banish the pooling heat between them. Regardless of sensual entertainment - not unheard of, as a diplomatic icebreaker - it is unthinkable to let her scent _desecrate_ the Imperial robes. Or, for that matter, the Imperial _lap._

"You might find it much like foreign relations, Ambassador. One must be conscious of the audience." Blessedly, Prime seems to ignore her body's impropriety. He must be waiting for a tactful moment to remove her disgraceful self from his lap. The Emperor is always so regal, so composed; he would not make a scene of her rebuke. Yet… his touch shows no sign of even withdrawing. His massive hand flexes around her shoulder, engulfing much of her collarbone, as he strokes from her face down the side of her neck. She shivers involuntarily, and nearly whimpers aloud. _Mercy! Light and shadows, let me live!_

There is no mercy in that gentle touch - nor in the view before her. Panting, the gentle one breaks the kiss for a moment to whisper something into his companion's ear. Both grin wide, and glance at their audience. He lets his partner push him back down, this time with his head hanging off the edge of the bed - showing the stretch of his neck, the swell of his chest, and his flushed face, as the bold one mantles over him with eyes ablaze. 

Prime’s fingers slide along her neck’s tensed muscles, as if coaxing them to loosen - to no avail. "Given that knowledge, I’m sure you understand. For some missionary work, the most effective message is the sword..." He chuckles softly. "...And for others, the sheath."

She has no capacity to question his confusing words. His touch seems to sample the wild fluster of her heartbeat, as the bold one hikes his partner's thighs over his own, and aligns himself. The other mewls and grips the bolder clone's forearm and thigh. He wantonly rolls his hips; open fronds curl and pull at the thick, dripping member near his entrance. The bold one groans above him. He looks up, pausing, as if to confirm once more that the Emperor smiles upon their tribute.

Despite the clone’s lack of pupils, she somehow _feels_ his gaze shift from Prime’s face to her own. A sly smile tugs the corners of his lips. Without dropping his eyes, he shifts his hips, just slightly; just enough to draw from his partner a low, breathless moan. It takes every fluttering scrap of her composure not to echo the sound herself.

The half-lidded _look_ in those eyes - and accompanying soft smirk - could scorch the very stars.

Prime’s voice is suddenly just above her ear, as he leans down to enclose her. "Take... you, for example..." he purrs. 

With utmost care, a single claw grazes her throat. She stays frozen in place - not daring even to breathe - as the steel point traces the column of her pulse. 

"...To enlighten one like you, would require...” Prime’s metal claw glides down, into the hollow of her throat, then along her collarbone. Her violent shivers threaten to tear apart her very atoms; yet his voice is as smooth and honeyed as ever. “...Given your prey nature... a _delicate_ approach."

Almost… seductive? No; he _always_ sounds like silk. _A test,_ she considers, her mind swimming with disorienting signals. All this must be a test of her composure - in case she is unworthy of the Ambassador position after all. A diplomat must remain calm, unruffled, even in the face of utmost distress and distraction... erotic or otherwise. She _must_ hold her composure, like him.

“I would hardly blame the need for a gentler hand,” Prime’s purr continues - as does his claw, tracing down her sternum. "Indeed, beneath a more aggressive emissary... you might simply... shatter."

The bold one at last drops his gaze back to his mewling companion. With a throaty exhale, he pushes forward - the other’s whimpers cut into a high gasp - and his full length sinks inside with one slow, smooth stroke. 

The gentle one _surges_ in surrender _._ With a rising cry of ecstasy, he digs his claws into the other’s corded arms; his trembling, passive body comes alive. His legs clamp around the other’s hips, using them as leverage to yield every inch of his depth - he gasps again, grinds upward, then _keens,_ the rapture in his face radiant as it drops back over the edge of the bed - and, as he gives way to his pleasure, another voice yields in unison - high, helpless, _hers._

The Emperor’s low laugh rumbles against her back. His palm flattens against her sternum, just below her throat, to hold her in her current pose - and her chest clenches tight, as if his hand has pressed through her ribs to grip her heart. 

She is no longer seated with decorum. Her traitorous body has stretched itself into a wanton arch, pressed up and back over the Prime’s full chest. She finds her arms wrapped around his forearm like a life raft, fingers digging carelessly into his flesh - his warm, firm shoulder behind her craned neck - and - oh, stars, with her face angled into his neck like this, she’s breathing against his _skin -_ gods above, even his _scent_ is making her thighs quiver - let alone the passionate sounds rising from the bed -

If this is a test, she has _clearly_ just failed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prime being a dick while the attendants get some dick B)
> 
> Also, here's a... [helpful diagram...](https://imgur.com/a/vuNGL2C) for the "fronds" described in ch12 (I also just added it to the notes there). Purely for clarification purposes. :">

_How utterly cruel_ , she laments, _for a God to wear a body of flesh._

The renown of the Horde is known across galaxies. None question the ruthless power of its Emperor; she has witnessed her own world kneel without a fight. Yet, of all those distant agonies inflicted by the Prime... she can think of none more wicked than this. How callous, how _unjust_ \- that he have _warmth_ \- and _breath_ \- and _scent_ \- and _skin._

His massive hand spans her upper chest, arresting her unbidden writhe - a transgression now pinned in exhibit, like an exotic insect that wandered too close. She makes no attempt to struggle; there is no use. His arm is like warm stone, immovable. Her facade is over... and perhaps her life.

Her face is hidden, eyes shut tight, but the cadence of moaning from the bed is imagery enough to clench her core. Is this quiver in her legs from terror, or something else? Her heart beats wildly beneath his palm. It seems overly unfair. Why, on top of all their innumerable, terrifying advantages - their telepathic prowess, their towering size and inexorable strength - why, too, must he and his clones have such overpowering... _allure?_

His voice - that ever-seductive silk - has lowered to the barest whisper: “Yes… do as I ask of you, my little Ambassador… _honor_ your body’s will.” 

Her body’s will? He expects her to translate these incoherent floods of feeling - while draped in the maw of monsters?

She breathes in quick, tiny gasps, not quite crushed against Prime's chest - but entirely flattened by her own swirling cacophony of emotion. That pulsing heat _aches_ in her core, flagrantly defying the squeeze of her thighs, sending a slow, needy squirm through her hips. Icy fingers of terror play all up and down her arched spine. It all seems to feed on itself, amplifying into a storm of conflicting signals - confusion, panic, and… _thrill._

Something inside her, something _desperate,_ is clawing free of its iron cage of fear. 

Slowly, Prime’s palm slides up over her neck. He uses no force, but the mere brush of his skin is enough to close her throat. The warmth of his hand lingers there for just a moment, letting her feel its breadth against her shivering frame - the span from jaw to collarbone, engulfed. “There is nowhere my Light cannot reach," he murmurs. "You could not hide from me forever...”

His caress continues up her cheek, until it surrounds the side of her face - and then gently, almost sweetly, tucks the side of her head against his neck. The resonant purr against her back and neck, and in his voice, suffuses her trembling body to the core. 

“...Nor yourself."

Her heart pounds up into the clenched knot of her throat. The heat is stoked further by those inescapable, irresistible sounds - heavy breathing - the building rhythm of slick noises - muffled groans. A whimper crawls up from her chest; then, a ragged whine. She is trapped by her own desire; and what point is there in escape? It is too late; her indecency is on full display. 

She inhales, and opens her eyes. 

Her attendants are tightly entwined; the gentle one beneath clutches at his companion's rolling back with all four limbs. His moans are stifled, head pressed forcefully against the other's lips by a clawed hand. The two move together like waves in a storm - and, even from here in Prime's lap, she may as well be a rudderless skiff; for the sight sets her senses churning, capsized in their midst. The play of tensed muscle shifting beneath sweat-sheened skin, the vibrant green flush along twitching ears, the rapt faces half hidden in each other - the bold one shudders and groans again, louder, and for a moment as he rolls his shoulders, she is shown the base of his neck, where the gentle one’s fingers probe past the metal rim of his port -

That ache becomes a mutiny; her hips are commandeered, giving slight flexes with each surge of cobalt flesh, as strained whimpers break through her bit-back voice. Her breath comes sharp and shallow. The hot flush of disgrace feels as though it might burn through her skin - and yet - the Prime is _purring_ against her, making soft, cooing sounds of amusement, as light claw-tips graze up and down her trembling form. Is he… _encouraging_ her indiscretions? What sort of twisted trap is this...? “That’s it… shy little thing, just give in…”

Without breaking pace, the bold one presses himself up on his hands for a deeper angle. His partner, still wrapped tight around his body and lips, seems in no mind to let go - and so is half lifted off the bed to expose the taut contours of his back. His head falls backward as his moans pitch higher, louder, into open-throated cries of ecstasy and need.

The bold one takes the opportunity to glance up - that scorching _look_ again, directly at her - his pale face flushed, panting, lips parted, a hint of fang as he starts to smile - the striated muscle in his braced arms standing out against the force of his movements, flexing through his powerful shoulders. His eyes burn into her as he strokes into his companion - and her gut swoops so violently that, if not for Prime's unyielding hold, she would have bucked forward and toppled from her seat. She nearly chokes on a strained noise high in her throat. Gods, that smooth, undulating _power_ in the way he _moves_ \- 

The gentle one finally releases his arms, dropping back to the bed with his legs still clamped around his partner's driving hips. The deeper angle is immediately apparent in his blown expression, as he throws his head back over the edge of the bed to cry out, claws digging into the other’s muscular thighs. She matches the rhythm of his heaving chest with her own panting. With the other still braced up, the intimate view of his swirling tendrils fills her with heat - his length seems to have retracted back into his sheath, giving her vibrant wet glimpses of the other’s thick shaft pumping in. 

She lets out a moan, helpless, to match that of the gentle one as his wide eyes catch hers. He holds his gaze on her, gasping higher and higher in urgent cries - as his legs clamp tight, the bold one gives a strained growl, and drops his head between his shoulders - he drives harder, faster - until the gentle one’s eyes glaze over, his wild moans fill the room, and his entire body succumbs to the shudders of climax. With a throaty yell, the other rams his hips deep and grinds there, twitching, groaning in his own release. 

For her, alas, the ache only multiplies. 

Prime's hold loosens, allowing her to slide down from his chest. She wants to curl up in a twitching ball. She wants to dig her fingers into the firm thigh beneath her. She wants to _scream -_ oh, gods, _mercy,_ she wants to be _filled._

The Emperor coos softly above her, low and teasing, and strokes down her shivering frame. A long, drawn-out whine escapes her as she slumps in his arms. 

“Hmmm...? What is it?” he purrs. “Poor thing… is there something you _need?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's some amazing fanart](https://poipiku.com/24765/2858133.html?10089) of the two attendants, by the ever-magnificent Yunta! Click the little button below the R-18 symbol to view.


	15. Chapter 15

Distant release echoes in her mind - far too much, yet not near enough. Her senses are driving her senseless. 

Her body feels weak, but inside, she is writhing. Without the Prime's link, she can feel only hints of the clones’ physical experience - washed over by the reverence of their shared worship. Rolling aftershocks of pleasure brush at the edges of her consciousness, just out of reach. She  _ aches  _ with each swell. 

_ Is there something you need? _

"Please… mercy..." she croaks. 

"Already?" The Prime cocks an eyebrow above her, and smirks. "You do look a tad overwhelmed... poor delicate thing. Ah, well.” He leans back with an exaggerated sigh, and mercifully unwraps one arm from around her - but never loses the wicked edge in his smile. “I’ll summon an escort back to your quarters, then…?"

She finds her hand on his arm, fingers trembling. That smirk is drilling into the top of her head. Her face burns.

"...W-wait," she whispers.

Her lowered gaze flits to the bed. Her attendants have melted into a panting tangle of limbs. The gentle one mewls softly, sweetly; he tucks himself against his partner, who thrums in reply and helps pull his body back from its precarious spot at the edge. They settle into each other's contours - spent, carefree, and radiant. 

She quickly returns to looking at her hands in her lap, flushing scarlet. "I. Uhm." She swallows. "May I rest… in here?" 

"And where, exactly, did you have in mind?" Prime’s smirk has broadened to an impish grin. His claw-tips drum a rolling pattern on the arm of the chair. She is growing more certain of his teasing. 

She grits her teeth in self-conscious frustration. "...Do I have to…  _ speak  _ my thoughts? You're already…" 

She trails off, unwilling to finish the laden sentence aloud. _ ...Already inside.  _

"Indeed," Prime replies casually. He lifts his hand to rest a single claw against her mouth. "...But it's so much more  _ satisfying  _ from your lips." 

She trembles at the dangerous point, pressing ever so lightly to her lower lip. That wicked smile above her never wavers. Yes… there can be no doubt, now. The Conqueror of Galaxies, living god, embodiment of Perfection itself, is...  _ screwing  _ with her. 

She sneaks another sidelong glance. Her attendants look so… soft, like this. Those powerful bodies are so much less threatening now, curled sweetly around each other on the bed. Gentle purring drifts into her ears. It sounds… blissful _._ _Peaceful._ A pang of envy clenches in her chest. In that little corner of the Universe, all is well. What must it feel like, to be so carefree?

Of the two clones, the bold one seems somewhat less insensate. As his partner nuzzles dazedly into him, he props himself up on his elbow, letting his free hand trail idly down the tapered waist. He rests his cheek in the other's neck with a relaxed sigh, all but his eyes hidden against cobalt skin. Those eyes blink lazily over the swell of shoulder muscle - offering her his soft, beckoning gaze. 

The Emperor catches her chin with his hand. He lifts her heated face - and from his ensuing grin, clearly exults in her fluster. "Go on…  _ tell _ me, small one. What would make you most  _ comfortable?" _

Of all the places on the flagship where she does  _ not  _ belong, it would seem to her that the Ruler of the Galactic Horde's _personal bed_ ought to be the most forbidden. And yet, she would have thought the same of his  _ lap. _ He did  _ summon _ her here, didn’t he…? She just… just wants to lie down for a moment. That’s all. 

She squeezes her eyes shut. "I… if it's not… an imposition, Lord Prime…" Her voice lowers to a whisper. "...T-the bed… does look comfortable."

"There, now.” His grip on her chin loosens, but does not yet release, as he lowers his face to murmur in her ear. “...Was that so difficult?" 

Her reply is a strained, tiny whine:  _ "Y-yes."  _

With a wicked laugh, the Emperor tucks her curled-up body into the crook of his arm, and rises from his seat. 

The sudden great distance to the ground is quite the distraction; she clings to his robes without thinking. By the time she registers that she is being  _ carried  _ by a living god, she has little time to appreciate the solid sense of security in his arm around her. The few steps to the bed are too short. Is this what the world looks like, from his towering height?

She knows the Prime would never let her fall; that would be far too easy an escape. 

Soon, too soon, she is lowered to a seat against a nest of pillows at the headboard. His broad hands arrange her there, leaning over her to adjust her repose as if she is a plush doll. She certainly feels like one in these heavy silks.  "I hope the comfort is to your liking," he remarks casually, as he straightens to look down at her with a smirk. "I cannot recall the last time someone tried to  _ sleep  _ in this bed."

Before she can open her mouth, he is gone from her side - to settle by the lazy puddle of draped bodies and wandering hands. 

The entwined attendants lift their heads to greet him as he leans in, purring louder for his presence. Her hive-sense is stronger, this close; she feels them flush with bliss as he cups their faces in each palm. Soon he has one in each arm, cradling them against him, cooing to their duet of soft trills.  His words are too soft for her to make out - but she feels the echo in the clones’ ensuing flood of joy. 

_ Yes, my worthy Chosen… beloved in my sight. I savor your throes of worship. _

That pang in her chest twists again, as the two Chosen breathe a deep sigh of rapture into the Emperor’s hold. His praise reverberates in their minds - and hers. From their faces, it is surely the most perfect bliss in the Universe. 

She wriggles a little deeper into the nest of pillows. As thrums of contentment resonate from the figures just a few feet away, she wraps her arms around her shoulders - and finds herself staring at the clones. They nuzzle to either side of Prime’s chest, leaving a slight gap between their own bodies.

Just enough space for someone… small. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our lil Ambassador actually EXPRESSED A DESIRE FOR SOMETHING omg I am SO PROUD OF HER :>


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chanting] SNUG SNUG SNUG
> 
> Forgot to link a couple fanarts! I've added them to prev chapters now, but here's the inimitable Yunta's [adorable Ambassador fanart](https://poipiku.com/24765/2710004.html?10954).  
> Inspired by that, here's the chapter 8 [massage scene](https://imgur.com/a/eMkLfBW) minus the anx; poor bby needs to just relax and bliss out. (I still like Yunta's piece more, but I needed to draw full *squish* :P )

Some minutes later, she remains unmoving in her nest. 

It is quite kind of them, really, to allow her time to gather herself. She asked to rest, didn't she? Her spot is… comfortable. Yes. 

The Prime and his two clones have shifted to the head of the bed as well - Prime sitting back against the cushioned headboard, the other two lying draped against either side of his lower body. They thrum beside her, just out of reach. Not that she _would_ reach for the sprawled arm of the one nearest her - despite the proximity of his hand, palm-up on the bed. 

The offering is suspect. His naked chest rises and falls slowly, eyes closed, head resting against his lord’s waist. The fingers of his hand are lightly curled, relaxed, open - tipped with those terrifying claws. 

She shrinks, and clutches a pillow to her chest. The clones had looked less dangerous from halfway across the room - appearing a more reasonable size when stretched out on the bed. She now realizes her mistake of perspective; from her new vantage, lost among her oversized cushions, a vast sea of bed stretches out before her. It thoroughly reminds her that the three purring figures at her side are _massive_ \- even in repose. Sitting up, she can barely see over the swell of Prime's chest to the other clone curled at his side. 

Their exalted Brother gently runs his claws through their crests of hair, drawing quiet trills from each. The clones make no attempt to cover their nude bodies… or their closed sheaths, still glistening with sex. The humming at the edges of her mind projects a feeling so much _more_ than... ‘comfortable.’ No; these are his Chosen, beloved in His sight, honored servants of their living God. To be so freely granted his touch, his affection, his praise - that is their _nirvana._

And, the closer she is to them, the more she can _feel_ that bliss through their hivemind. What would it feel like if she were _touching_ them? Would it loosen this aching knot of tension inside, if she could rest in their arms? 

The nearer clone opens his eyes, and tilts his head slightly towards her. That satisfied smile… it must be the bold one, then. She had lost track for a time; as soon as they met the Prime’s touch, both had melted into indistinguishable puddles of flesh. Now she can recognize him by the soft, beckoning gaze. She clutches the huge pillow tighter against herself, peering over its edge.

She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.

She tries again. This time, a near-inaudible squeak. 

“Small one,” the bold one purrs lazily. 

“...Hi,” she manages.

“Ssssoft one.” He plays with the sound, smiling dazedly, as if drugged with some heady opiate. His half-lidded eyes are fixed on her face - what little of her is visible over the pillow, anyway. Near her nest, his upturned hand spreads its clawed fingers. “ _So_ soft…”

“Patience, my Brother.” The Emperor folds his forearm over the bold one’s chest, and rests his head back, letting all four eyes drift closed. “We have learned one does not _approach_ a prey creature in hiding." 

She flushes, and buries her face in the pillow. Yes… that does seem to be their game. _Set the food out, and hold very still._ The only question that remains is, what will happen if she takes the bait? Will she be fed… or will she be _eaten?_

_It's a trap,_ scream her instincts. Indeed, by all she knows of her hosts, that seems more likely than not. And yet… and _yet…_

_Gods, that bait is tempting._

Slowly, hesitantly, she extends a shaking hand out from her pillow fortress, and rests it in the bold one's upturned palm. 

The clone remains still - but his expression lights up, eyes sparkling. She looks down; her slim hand is utterly lost in his. 

"Could I…" Her voice comes out as a cracked whisper. She swallows and tries again. "...Would it be all right… if I… join you?" 

She looks up again, to see the bold one wide-eyed with open delight - as though a rare butterfly has just landed on his arm. The gentle one lifts his head as well, giving his usual shy smile. The Prime does not move; but he cracks open a single eye to watch. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk.

"Of course, small one." The bold one is beaming - which shows off an unnerving array of fangs. He seems entirely unconscious of the sharp glint as he sits up on his hip, shifting just a little closer. "We would be _honored_ to welcome you into His light."

She swallows, and gives the pillow-shield one last squeeze before lowering it. The attendant lifts her hand, enclosing it in his own, to offer a steady support as she slides awkwardly from her nest. 

His bare hip is warm against her, even through her heavy silk robes. Once at his side, she fidgets, glancing up at the other two. She perches on the outside edge; that she-sized space is on the opposite side of the bold one’s body… his broad, chiseled, very _naked_ body. 

Her intrusion has disrupted their arrangement. All eyes - all _eight_ eyes - are now focused directly on her. 

Well… at this point, it would hardly drive her odds of survival down _further._

With a deep inhale, she sets her jaw and raises her arms to the clone’s shoulders. Any effort to keep the self-conscious trepidation from her face is futile; but she somehow manages to squeak out the semblance of her request. “Iiiii… mightneedalift.”

From his swell of joy, she might as well have handed him a basket of newborn trill-cubs. His little hum surges at the edge of her mind; it grows so strong that it seems to _vibrate_ through her skull, and through his body as well. He looks as if he might _burst._

The gentle one, as well, coos with delight from across the Emperor’s lap. Their attention redoubles her embarrassment; she squeezes her eyes shut, blushing furiously, as huge clawed hands scoop her up from the bed. Soon, though, she is settled among them, curled in _quite_ a different sort of nest than her pillows before. In all directions, she can feel their thrumming. A massive palm comes to rest on the top of her head.

“You see, my Brothers?” purrs the Prime from above. “With enough patience… you can have one eating from your hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here have a [crossover doodle](https://imgur.com/a/l3khZug) featuring Ambassador and a similarly smol OC, Faun from LittleHidingPo's [Become Pure.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795681/chapters/62656645) Mostly because I just wanted to draw clone bois absolutely losing it over how adorable the smols are. I feel it nicely illustrates the reactions in this chapter :P


	17. Chapter 17

As cobalt skin surrounds her, she pushes down bubbles of panic. What was she _thinking?_ What _possessed_ her to leave her protective pillow behind - and voluntarily crawl straight back into the Emperor's lap? 

To either side, her attendants hum softly as they arrange her body - much like the Prime had done for her in her previous nest - except, now, the base of the nest is _him._ Once again, his massive frame cradles hers. At least his attention is somewhat split, now, with a doting clone at each flank. 

"Yet another excellent capture, my 'Brother'..." he purrs to the bold one. "I believe that makes three for three, now. I must commend your talent."

She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping herself into a trembling ball. This yields a plaintive trill from the gentle one; he had just perfected her pose, artfully draped across Prime's lap. He lowers his face to her eye level - a move which requires an odd scrunch of his shoulders, akin to a predatory cat stalking low to the ground. "Ambassador, I notice... you continue to carry excessive tension in your body. Perhaps this is the cause of your discomfort?" 

It wouldn't have been a particularly reassuring pose - but the look of inquisitive concern on his face is so earnest, she can't help but peek out from behind her broad sleeves. 

"We are here to attend your needs." He keeps his smile careful and soft. "Please, allow us to serve you as before."

Crisp white uniforms, cooling salve… had it really been just a few hours ago that she'd last received such 'service'? There is no denying the gentle one's skill with his hands; her shoulder is entirely pain-free. Yet… the offer feels rather different, now that the polished, professional, reserved attendant sits somewhat disheveled and _quite_ naked on his hip beside her. Soft light traces the sculpted outlines of muscle along his arms, his full chest - she deliberately avoids looking any lower than his contoured waist - lines that shift beneath smooth blue-grey skin as he offers his hand. She swallows, closes her eyes… then, slowly nods. 

"Perhaps more extensive this time," he says, with that comfortingly gentle tone. "For therapeutic effect, of course. - Turn, please."

She allows him to arrange her once more; admittedly a welcome assist, since the Prime's lap beneath her is her only platform. The idea of simply clambering over the Emperor on her own - bracing her hands against his broad, solid body for support - she can hardly stand to imagine such disrespect. But as long as her hosts are the ones moving her, surely, she can avoid further… embarrassment. 

Now facing away from the gentle one, she exhales as his huge hands alight on her shoulders. He brushes her skin with light warming strokes, soothing, non-threatening. Yes; this should be all right, she reasons. As long as her body doesn't start _acting up_ again. 

When she finally opens her eyes and looks up, she realizes why the bold one has stopped speaking - and what those odd, soft whimpers have been. It seems the Prime gives commendations a touch more personally than the leaders of her world. The bold one gives a soft moan against his ruler's lips, and tries to press forward with more urgency; but the Emperor has a firm grip on the back of his neck, and simply hums with amusement while holding him in place. 

Their mouths move together, slowly, sensually, just a foot above her now-captive eyes. Prime effortlessly exerts his will over the kiss - its force, its pace, the intermittent play of tongues - forcing the bold one to restrain his passion to receive his reward. One secondary eye remains open, of the four… and as she stares, its half-lidded gaze rests steadily on her. Watching. 

Her heart thuds as she remembers the scene in the throne room. No longer is she invisible, apart, hidden. No - apparently, she never was. Her hosts display affection with each other so casually. They display _themselves_ so casually, she corrects herself, as she shifts her side nervously against bare blue-grey skin. It's clear that he welcomes her stare after all… but still, she averts her eyes. Of course, looking askance only gives her an eyeful of the bold one's toned body, with Prime's arm locked around his waist to pull him close. 

She must not succumb. No matter how much he tests her, _tempts_ her, she won't bear the shame of losing her composure again. Not under _that_ steely, all-seeing gaze. 

As her face heats, the gentle one gives a comforting thrum behind her. She can feel his warmth at her back, the weight of his hands, still stroking over her bare skin - meticulously tracing just beyond the off-shoulder edge of her robes, and no further. His slow breathing skims through her hair from above. With a deep breath, she forces herself to unclench. It will do her no good to have her shoulders around her ears. This one, at least, is being mercifully patient with her - as compared to the other, who sometimes looks tempted to pounce. 

Well, perhaps not at the moment. Released, the bold one slides down Prime's chest in a boneless puddle. His mental presence seems to radiate contentment and bliss from every neuron; the apparent source of that bliss simply looks down at him, and smirks. 

"You see, Ambassador? Envoys of my will,” Prime says idly. “This one can serve with as much patience as needed." 

The idea of _Prime's_ will in control is hardly reassuring; but as the Emperor reaches to caress both attendants, her masseur amplifies his fellow Chosen’s mental hum with his own. Between them, as both lean close, she feels their contentment skim the surface of her mind like warm sunlight. A near-inaudible whine of longing escapes her. She can almost, _almost_ feel that bliss herself. Just a little more contact, perhaps… if she nudges just a little closer against the bold one’s broad chest… 

The warmth seeps in, just at the edges of her conscious. Just enough. 

She welcomes the relief with a sigh - even as the bold one draws her forward into his arms, and as her robes slide a few inches further down her back. 

The gentle one keeps his touch light. His huge hands spread behind her shoulders, infusing her upper back with heat, as they move over her skin in overlapping strokes. It lacks the targeted force of her earlier treatment; if anything, he seems more to be just _petting_ her. It feels… strangely hypnotic, especially as the purring rises against her. As the bold one’s fingers start to trace their own paths - over her hair, her cheek - she lets out half of another sigh, throatier, before biting it down. 

She cannot trust her voice; the memory of a few hours earlier is only too fresh. Such noises in the privacy of her suite are bad enough, but _here?_

One of them nuzzles against her hair, cooing. The sensations of their hands are beginning to meld. She has lost track of whose are whose; their touch is so seamless that it feels like extra hands have joined in. One brushes her face, one kneads between her shoulder blades... one presses up along her spine, now bare, melting the line of tension beneath it. She holds back a groan.

Hands, everywhere... stroking behind her head, down her neck... massaging the curve of her shoulder... skimming her hair, her collarbone, her silk-robed waist... tracing down over her hip and outer thigh... cradling her head, caressing all over her back... the purring all around her... the huge sturdy shoulders pressing in, soothing little murmurs and coos of _“Soft one”_ above her head... and the radiant pleasure washing over her mind, that sinks deeper with each kneading touch. Her throat clenches in protest as she swallows another noise.

One of the hands - just one - stops moving. It angles a cool steel claw against her closed throat.

“Let me hear you,” murmurs the Prime.

She squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s… embarrassing,” she manages to croak out. _Must_ she honor even her pathetic whines? Are these, too, her body’s ‘will’? 

The meticulous claw strokes up beneath her jawline, and lifts her face by the chin - up, up - to face those four glowing eyes. 

“By whose authority do _you_ decide... what is shameful, and what is pure?” he purrs. 

Even her voice wants to hide. No further words emerge from her throat; but the cries of instinct swirl in her mind. _Do not be seen. Do not be heard. Do not be perceived - for that means death._

The Prime leans close to her face - _very_ close. His eyes blaze as he enunciates his words: 

“By. _Mine._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That might be the thesis statement for ...my entire body of Prime-related works? :B
> 
> "DON'T PERCEIVE ME" is a running joke on my Discord server, and this fic is basically a deep dive into that concept - how fear and shame hold us back from true intimacy.
> 
> Most of us know what it's like to feel irrational shame or fear - about our bodies, our sexual preferences, our behavior - no matter how much a partner reassures us that it's okay. We can know on a surface level there is nothing wrong; and yet, base instincts are still overwhelming. It doesn't take fangs and claws to make vulnerability feel terrifying. The fear comes from our own past experiences and hurts. 
> 
> How can we objectively figure out where the line is, between what's okay and what's not? How do we know what we should hide, and what we should be open about? What is shameful, and what is pure? It's completely arbitrary - influenced by our culture and our individual upbringing. Self-consciousness is irrational, yet inevitable. The only way to overcome it is with complete faith in one's partner - to trust their values above our own, and become completely, terrifyingly vulnerable and exposed. 
> 
> In this case, for the Ambassador to cast Prime as the ultimate authority on good and bad, would mean accepting his will above her own instincts - to accept that vulnerability, for better or for worse. Can she bear such terror? Probably not! Will she do it anyway? We'll find out! :D


	18. Chapter 18

_ By my authority alone. _

The line of cold metal exerts no pressure beneath her slim jaw; the pad of his thumb rests lightly on her cheek. The closeness of his face, his eyes - unthinkably close - is the force that holds her in place. 

His Presence is radiant; his eyes outshine the bounds of her vision - captivating, hypnotic, as a cobra entrances its kill. 

No less hypnotic are her attendants’ hands, caressing her frozen form. The sensation relentlessly soothes those old instincts of her species, of long-hunted prey, clawing at the back of her mind. Such vestigial drives are nearly overpowering in his presence, begging her to hide, to escape somehow to safety - and yet, she remains still beneath those eyes. She is the easiest of prey: held captive by terror and enchantment alike. 

Her attendants’ touch seems more an extension of Prime’s will than their own. How else could they move in such seamless coordination? The three muscled bodies around her may as well be three fingers of the same hand. From all sides, sensation melts into her skin like this warmth melts into her mind - coaxing her to respond. The massive hand shifts at her lifted chin. The gentlest of clawed fingers stroke over her cheek, above her ear, behind her head, to slide around the back of her neck and rest there, cradling her upturned head. Her body shudders, trapped between opposing pulls. The second grows stronger with each brush - the need to push back into the pressure between her shoulder blades, to shiver at the fingers down the back of her neck… to give her voice in offering, in worship, as they give their touch.

Yes. Yes… an offering, she realizes hazily, as her mental borders slowly dissolve. 

Strokes of pressure melt down her back like the hivemind’s lapping warmth. The blissful, seductive thrum of the Chosen seeps further into her mind.  _ That’s it, small one… that’s it. Let your doubts be cleansed in His light... _

That hypnotic purr around her follows the rhythm of their hands. Two points of firm warmth knead down either side of her shivering spine, and her throat opens to a whine. She catches a glimpse of a spreading smile, just before the touch melts deeper, and her eyes roll back... 

After all, who is she to question a will absolute? 

With just this taste of the Chosen’s bliss, she begins to understand.  _ Small one. Soft one. _ She feels her own slight frame through hands that are not her own - feels the little gasps pulling at delicate ribs, the trembling waist so easily encircled.  _ Meek little thing…  _ How small indeed, these fears. If she is to be devoured, should she not be honored by the privilege? How could she demur, in the warmth of a living God? 

How insignificant must he think this fluttering heart of hers; how inconsequential, the dizzy swimming of her head. High whimpers cut through breathless whines, but she no longer has the strength to bite them down.  _ Such sweet noises… that’s it, open for us.  _ His Light, his Presence - the faith of the devoted Chosen - and the greater Hivemind, a muted background roar - these are all far greater forces than self-preservation or shame. 

Hands slide around her waist from behind. Firm, bare skin against her back, pressing into her - the grip tightens - soft cooing warms her neck - her vision is useless, disjointed, awash with green - she lets her eyes fall closed.

Yes… what use are her instincts, her fears, her doubts, beneath the will of he who commands the suns and stars? 

_ It’s all right, my small one. Let me take these afflictions from you.  _

The Prime’s mental voice smoothes over her ragged thoughts. Yes… she understands, now. How small, how foolish, to have held back so fearfully. Let her bask in His radiance; let its cleansing rays sear her worries to ash. Perhaps then, she may finally know the same bliss as the Chosen purring against her. Perhaps then, she may finally know peace.

_ Give to me your shame, your suffering. Give me your emptiness... that I may fill your darkest corners with my Light. _

The broad hand cups the back of her head, fingers curled around the tilted chalice of her skull and neck. She is no longer holding her head upright; the muscles along her spine unwind further with each shuddering breath, leaving her to hang loosely from the gentle grip. Her pulse is weak, frantic, faltering. Such meaningless physical concerns. Let her meld with this warmth pressing in all around her. Let her taste Divinity in that great thrum of minds...

The scaffolding of her consciousness splinters against the rising tide of feeling, of thought, of Presence; the sound of breathing deepens at her ear.  _ Soft one... sweet one. Let us welcome you in worship. Taste Divinity, and let Divinity taste you. _

Fingers curl around her own, lifting hands she can barely remember are hers. A span of warm skin appears beneath her palms. She lets them direct her touch up contours of muscle, feeling the rumble beneath - feeling the swell of a broad chest - far too wide for her hands to cover, but she spreads her fingers, reveling in the firmness under silken skin - and that manifold Presence is soaking into her mind, crowding out the shadows with its Light, filling her, overflowing. So much warmth. Her consciousness shudders beneath its weight. Gentle fingers slip beneath her robes - so smoothly that the warmth on her skin could be just another brush of silk.  _ We would love nothing more than to unfurl you... _

She is not sure when the hands slid up to engulf the sides of her face - not sure whose lips meet hers, softly, slowly, sweetly. It does not matter whose, for the three move under one will. The three  _ are  _ one - 'Brothers' in His light - perhaps  _ her  _ 'Brothers,' now…? This Light fills her mind beyond capacity, bearing it towards collapse, and yet, its warmth is so achingly sweet. She gives way, in body, mind, and voice. Let the hivemind take her, then. Their thrumming surrounds her, submerges her entire being. Her lips melt into the other's kiss. Let them taste her moans. 

That overpowering purr is the last thing to disappear, as her consciousness gives out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS U BROKE HER
> 
> fluff to follow


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author has clearly lost control of genre entirely - here, have a jumbled mess of fluff, crack comedy, angst, comfort, and thirst.
> 
> Longtime readers may notice a shift in Ambassador's narrative voice, starting to resemble that of a Chosen. Yes, that's deliberate. :>

_ Oh no… we broke her.  _

_ Already? Oh, the poor delicate thing...  _

Their distress flutters through the back of her mind. Worried little trills drift down from above. She stirs, hazy; it is difficult to place herself. The concept of “herself” is not quite so distinct, at the moment. 

Normally,  _ Where am I? _ would seem like a reasonable question for this sort of situation. Right now, though, it feels less pertinent than  _ Who am I?  _ Or perhaps just, … _ Am I?  _

Her emotions feel as if they have been torn open - notes of feeling from her almost-Brothers bleeding into the raw edges, mingling, merging with her own.  _ Almost.  _ She was nearly able to join them… that sweet warmth was so nearly  _ part _ of her, and yet… and yet. Their minds are separate once more. The warmth is gone. Even the purring is gone. She swallows, nearly shivering. Was she always this cold, before? Did that taste of the Light make all else feel cold in comparison… or has she lived all her life in the shadows? 

“Small one?” The concerned face of an attendant swims into focus above her. She recognizes the gentle one by his voice. “Do you require medical attention?”

“Mweh,” she manages. 

Slowly, physical awareness returns. She is no longer seated in Prime's lap; instead, there are cool sheets beneath her back, and the vaulted ceilings of the bedchamber fill most of her field of vision. She does not need her eyes to know the Emperor lounges nearby. His radiant Presence is a steadier, deeper note of quiet amusement behind the two flitting Chosen. The wash of relief from that awareness surprises even herself. Had she really been so eager to flee, earlier?

That swell of angst, she soon realizes, is not  _ entirely  _ her own. The bold one nudges into view, wearing a nervous, guilty expression, like a chastened lapling - including the lowered ears. “I was taking great care not to injure her,” he frets. “...Does kissing cause undue stress?”

The gentle one regards her thoughtfully. “Perhaps her species is allergic to our saliva.”

The bold one tilts his head for a moment, considering - then leans down to her face. She lets out a high-pitched squeak, as his pointed tongue paints slick warmth up her cheekbone. He leans back, peering down at her expression. "It seems you are correct. She looks about to pass out again."

From somewhere in the background comes a patient sigh. "...When was the last time our guest was fed and watered?" 

Her two attendants glance at the dazed heap of diplomat beneath them, then at each other, eyes wide. That mental swell of guilt redoubles; now both sets of ears are drooping. 

"Now, Brothers. Surely you have not forgotten the basic care of a less advanced species." A broad hand alights on each clone's head; she feels the weight’s echo, and the resultant wash of feeling. Gratitude, anxiety - the Exalted one grants the blessing of His touch, even as He scolds. Perhaps this failure will be forgiven... but mercy is never guaranteed. After all, would it still be so meaningful, if it were not so rare?

Prime's voice continues, stern, chiding. "It is difficult to conceive of, I am aware… but they have no amniotic fluid to maintain nutrient balance."

The gentle one swallows and dips his head in assent. "We will see to it at once, my Lord." He peers down, pauses, then seems to shrink slightly. "Er. ...What does this species eat?" 

"The nutrisynth database has her profile. Herbivore class C." Prime’s hand releases the gentle one, who scurries immediately out of sight. The bold one, in turn, nods a bit too eagerly at the curt command directed at him: "Water. Now." - then he, too, disappears. 

She blinks up at the space where their faces had been; the ceiling seems to spin in place. As their mental presence fades out of range, an odd pang of loss follows. Without them, that space in her mind feels so empty. The Exalted one has dimmed himself as well; she can no longer sense his Presence. Dizzy, she struggles to lift herself to one elbow so that she can look around, but that only makes the room spin more wildly. Rising panic bleeds into the emptiness. 

She is… alone?

“Fascinating,” murmurs the Prime. 

A great palm settles on her forehead; it brings with it a flood of warmth to her mind, as if his withheld Presence now returns with his touch. She sags with relief and closes her eyes, letting his hand guide her back down to rest. 

"For one so shy, you are terribly eager." His weight settles by her waist as his hand strokes over her hair. "But you are so delicate, my small one. You cannot force yourself open all at once."

"Weh," she mumbles in agreement. 

"I felt the collapse of your consciousness. Poor fragile creature…" The hand moves down to cup the side of her face; she tilts her head into its warmth with a soft whine. The sympathy in that resonant voice is so sweet it aches through her chest. Sympathy from a God. 

...From  _ her  _ God? 

No. She failed to accept the Light. The sweet ache tightens into something more desperate. She has tasted Divinity; she  _ longs  _ for that beautiful glimpse of Bliss. And yet, it remains beyond her grasp. Is her mortal self simply insufficient? Unworthy? Is she doomed to live in the shadows forever? Why grant her that glimpse of warmth, if she must now bear its absence? That ache is fast becoming a crushing knot in her heart. 

Then, the sides of her head are submerged in his hands. His weight shifts; she opens her eyes to find him leaning down over her. Her spiraling thoughts shudder to a halt, transfixed in place, as she stares up in awe.

It is the same way he held her face not so long ago, in the throne room. A lifetime ago, it seems. Just as he had then, he lets his eyes drift closed - and slowly, luxuriantly, inhales. 

"So raw…” he murmurs. “So tender. Yes…  _ exquisite.” _

That titan frame blocks out her view of the rest of the world; the graceful cascade of hair and cables drapes down around her like a gleaming silver canopy. He fills her senses. The soft glow of his smile - the warmth of his hands surrounding her face - the sound of his breath, as he absorbs her jagged emotions - his  _ scent,  _ oh stars - somehow even more Divine and intoxicating than it was before - she dares to mimic his inhale, though her own breath is nowhere near as steady. Oh, sweet Light.

“You give  _ such  _ treasures… even in your struggle,” purrs the Prime. “Such  _ fascinating  _ connections, woven within these prey instincts of yours. I see now.” 

Slowly, his eyes open, pairing his smile with a half-lidded gaze. His palm strokes down the side of her face as the smile broadens. “This longing you feel. You yearn for safety… in hiding,  _ or _ in holding. How  _ very  _ useful indeed.”

Hope and anxiety swell in tandem, overtaking the knot in her chest. Her struggle is useful to the Prime. She may yet have a chance at that warmth - but at a terrifying cost. _Taste Divinity, and let Divinity taste you._ Quite the seductive invitation… into a contract of annexation. Is she signing away the borders of her very soul? 

"Is exchange not the essence of diplomacy?" The Emperor smirks at her unspoken fears. He straightens back slightly, letting his fingers trail down over her trembling shoulders. "Rejoice, Ambassador. With such cultural secrets, I could very well bring the Universe to my Light.” 

The moment his touch lifts away, its absence becomes a sensation in itself. Instinct pulls her arms against her ribs; she curls in among her robes. Though her voice can manage only a whimper, she knows he will hear the pleading question anyway.  _ Can you bring Light to the ones who can’t… take it? _

Prime’s response is a reassuring smile - with perhaps the hint of a smirk lurking behind. On such an angular face, it is difficult to tell. Her heart clings to the softer interpretation; he rewards her with a gentle, beatific pat to the top of her head. 

“Have courage, my small one,” he purrs, in that honey-sweet voice. “You may struggle to accept it in full… but I have faith in you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We must be strong, Ambassador. We must be brave. >:}
> 
> (But first, more attendant doting.)
> 
> Sure, that "cultural secrets" line *sounds* evil... but if you think about it, maybe Prime has just decided to try conquering the Universe with snuggles? :P


	20. Chapter 20

The unfathomable vastness of the Prime, she muses, seems embodied in the way he binds his hair. Kept under tight control, nary a wisp out of place beneath his metal headpiece, that elegant sweep of silver-white only hints at the sheer magnitude contained therein. 

Only fitting, really. 

In serene silence, the Emperor lounges on his elbow beside her, angled to lean over her face. She can't place when the clasp in his hair was undone; recent events flow together in her mind, much like the gleaming river that now falls around her. The weight of his palm continues its slow movement over her head, but the weight of his gaze has been utterly still for a time - calm, patient, as if cataloguing each and every faint beat of her heart. 

His vast Presence, and that of the Hivemind, is a steady background hum all around... and, for just this moment, her own head is utterly,  _ blessedly _ quiet. She is too drained and dizzy from her collapse to wander away in anxious thoughts. Some part of her longs to hold on to this moment, curled on the sheets… resting in the shadow of a tranquil god. Indeed, she prays for time itself to collapse around her. Let her have all eternity to savor a scant breath of peace. 

In such elegant bonds, being captured is not so terrible. Perhaps her mind, too, is draped in the filigree strands of this beautiful silver cage. 

Footsteps draw her from her reverie, announcing her attendants’ return. The bold one is the first to appear, bearing a sleek decanter of what thankfully appears to be water. Moments later, the gentle one follows with a tray of something enticingly leafy - and a vibrant blush across his cheekbones. 

Only then does she notice that both are still entirely nude. 

She peeks through the canopy of hair. The bold one's casual air belies his state of undress, seeming devoid of modesty - apart from a light flush to his ear-tips, and a quirk at the corners of his lips. The gentle one too makes no attempt to cover himself, but moves with a quick, purposeful stride - shoulders stiff, eyes forward - befitting the urgency of his errand, as well as his clear hurry to retreat from the open hallways.

Neither give a hint of distress; they simply dip their heads to the Prime, and come forward to arrange their offerings at the bedside. She starts to open her mouth, but thinks better of it when she notices the way Prime watches them - particularly, his pointed smirk. Her attendants will have no further trouble, she suspects, with remembering her species' nutritional needs. 

Perhaps  _ she  _ could have used a reminder as well. The events of the day have kept her thoroughly occupied with more pressing matters; but when she reaches for the decanter, her unsteady hand nearly sends it tumbling off the tray. Only the bold one's expert reflexes save it from watery demise. She soon has further opportunity to regret the attempt. The silver curtain withdraws as Prime shifts back - allowing two large, fretting clones to converge on one petite and rather woozy diplomat.

"Small one, do not exert yourself -" 

"Oh, she's shaking again -" 

Her weakened squirming is no match for two so powerfully built, and so bent on Helping. One pulls her into a hold that traps her arms against her ribs. "I can  _ feed myself,  _ I'm not -" she begins, but the protest is interrupted by a leafy morsel, aimed deftly into her mouth mid-yelp. 

Basic manners force her silent - the mouthful is stubbornly toothsome. She glares pointedly upward as she chews, making feeble attempts to wriggle out from the gentle one's arms. He gives no sign of effort in resisting her struggle. She can feel the unchanged rhythm of his breathing, slow and even, in the bare chest pressed against her back. Soft, soothing trills float down to her ear. 

Whatever this alien vegetable is, she must admit it is delicious. 

The bold one's utter enchantment is equally disarming; he watches intently, eyes sparkling, as if food is an intriguing novelty. Or, perhaps, the novelty is  _ her _ . That notion is less comfortable. She swallows with sudden awkwardness. Do they have to look at her so expectantly…? The bold one seems already poised to strike with a new bit of fruit the moment she opens her mouth. 

She glances pleadingly back at Prime. He simply watches with the same pointed smirk as before, chin propped on his fist, clearly entertained. “You must keep her hydrated as well, Brothers,” he says idly. “Quite the litany of physical needs, in fact… but our prize must be properly maintained, regardless of the inconvenience.”

The bold one nods intently - accepting his task with all the gravitas of a military strike order - and turns his attention to the decanter of water. As he lifts it to her lips, he holds it at an elegant tilt with both hands, like a server pouring a fine wine into a glass. 

She manages an unsteady mouthful before spluttering quite unlike a wineglass: “Can - can I  _ please  _ \- have my hands back?!” 

“Nonsense, Ambassador. You barely have the strength to swallow.” The Prime’s smirk broadens as he leans forward, lifting a hand to cup her chin. His narrowed eyes have taken on a malicious gleam. “I would not allow you to suffer such strain.” 

His thumb slides up to her lower lip, applying just a hint of pressure. She whimpers, but does not resist, as his grip tilts her head up and back against the gentle one’s shoulder. There is no arguing with the Conqueror of Galaxies - one who is all too prepared to force his will down his subject’s throat. 

In a low, even voice, he murmurs: “Open your mouth.” 

Her heart stutters. She obeys without a moment’s thought. There is something in his tone, smooth yet firm; or perhaps, the way she can almost… taste… 

The pad of his thumb strokes softly over her lip. Her eyes fall closed. She shivers in his hand, her cheek hot beneath the cool steel of his forefinger. Is the point of his claw angled inside her mouth? She dares not move her tongue to find it. With every tiny breath, her parted lips twitch against the lingering weight of his touch.

“Very good, my small one,” breathes the Prime at her ear. 

After an endless moment, his thumb moves away from her mouth. Its weight is replaced by that of the decanter - but the broad hand remains beneath her chin, holding her jaw in place between thumb and steel-armored forefinger. She takes a reflexive sip. Then, a gulp. His hand keeps most of her attention occupied; three fingers rest gently over her throat, as if to confirm each swallow. 

The cool water brings a shock of relief as it floods through her. How had she not  _ felt  _ the intensity of her thirst? She drinks as if draining a river, too dazed to be surprised by the ease of this smoother angle. Eventually, the bold one draws back the decanter, allowing her a chance to breathe - and seems just as surprised as she is to see it half-empty. 

She takes a long gulp of air. When at last she exhales, the tension of her abandoned struggle seems to puff away with her breath; she slumps back into the gentle one's chest. He shifts her limp frame in his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his shoulder. Only then does the Prime let his hand fall from her jaw. 

"You see?" comes that low, silken voice. Even at a murmur, its resonance suffuses his every word. "With a bit of faith… you may yet manage to accept our gifts after all."

She takes a steadying breath, and opens her eyes - this time, somewhat more prepared to receive the bold one's offering of fruit. This one goes down easily. It has a sweet, full-bodied flavor, with a lingering hint of tart sharpness in the aftertaste - not unlike the satisfied smile above her, and the glint in that asymmetrical gaze. 

The Emperor's words, she knows, have nothing to do with the tray of food. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She is indeed very thirsty... as are we all.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who have read TDP may remember that the Bold One seems to have a hand fetish. Not that I have any particular, timely reason to bring up this relevant detail. :D

Some minutes later, the tray of food lies demolished to the side. She shifts in the gentle one’s cradling arms. She is sated, and yet… this lingering hunger of hers… 

The sense of craving has only swelled, now that there is no dizziness to distract from it. It has been with her from the start, she knows. And, after that brief taste of the Light’s warmth, that brush of Divinity that she failed to accept… she can no longer pretend not to know the source. 

For those few blissful moments, when she’d managed to open herself, to let her attendants’ thoughts merge with her own... yes, it was they who lent her the courage to taste Divinity. She can feel the blissful patterns of their worship now, etched in her mind. But that warmth, that bliss… gone. Shadows take this cursed mortal frailty! Now, after her collapse, they treat her like shattered glass. The gentle one’s solid forearms around her ribs hold steady, motionless, making her skin long for the caresses once given. The bold one, too, takes careful aim with each hand-fed morsel; he must be worried she might faint again if he so much as touches her lips. 

Sweet drippings from the fruit still cling to her tongue, and to the hand that fed her. A hand which, she now shivers to admit, is more enticing than the food… yes, even despite the gleaming claws. Or, perhaps… an unnerving thought… _because_ of them. 

The bold one’s hand hovers carefully near her face with the last piece, waiting for her to open her mouth. She swallows as she remembers the way those fingers wrapped around her own, bringing her touch to his chest… the way his warm skin felt against her hands… had it been his lips on hers, in that dizzying ocean of Light? 

The gentle one’s warm chest shifts against her back, as he adjusts his patient hold. She glances up, feeling a prickle of a flush. He watches her with pupil-less eyes. His expression is soft, but the planes of his face are so angular, so arched… so _alien._ Had she really _kissed_ such a creature?

...Had it really felt so _right?_

And the Prime had allowed it. _...Planned_ it, perhaps. She starts to glance to the side, where she knows He is watching, silently, no doubt with that razor-sharp smirk… no; if she sees those piercing eyes, she will lose her nerve. She pulls her eyes back to the piece of fruit in the bold one’s waiting hand, and steels herself with a gulp. There is only one way to answer these questions. Just… avoid the claws...

Before she can change her mind, she inhales, closes her eyes, dips her head forward - and, instead of the fruit, wraps her lips around the bold one’s forefinger. 

There is silence as the fruit falls abandoned to the side. She opens her eyes to see the bold one staring at her with a strange expression of shock. At least, it resembles shock, from his dropped-open mouth; but as she looks up, his wide eyes fall half-lidded. - Did his ear just twitch? 

The gentle one, apparently, is just as stunned; as she leans forward, his slackened grip gives no resistance. Though the humming mental Presence of her attendants had faded since her collapse, she now feels it swell at the edges of her mind - both of them, pulsing with surprise and interest. And, one, with… oh, my. That was more than just shock after all. 

Hesitantly, she pulls at the digit with her tongue, watching the bold one’s face. Yes; that _is_ a twitch in his ear, and in his parted lips as well. Her heart thumps. _Oh, stars…! What am I doing?_ But it is too late for doubts now; she can only press forward, cleaning and massaging him with the length of her tongue. Beneath the fruit’s drippings, his skin has a subtly sweet taste of its own. 

The bold one stays motionless, holding his hand perfectly still; the only part of him not frozen is his face. His twitching ears fold back against his skull - his eyes fall closed - he tilts his head back, just slightly - and lets out a long, low, full-throated groan. 

It is not entirely fear, now, that drives her thumping heart. 

"Be careful, my small one." The low, smooth, mildly amused voice of the Emperor wraps itself around her attention. She withdraws her mouth - ignoring the way her pulse flutters at the bold one's strained noise - and finally looks to the side. Only then does she realize why she had not heard the fruit fall; it never landed on the sheets. Prime holds it up as if inspecting its flesh, speared on the tip of a steel claw. 

"Such a rare and exquisite treasure as yourself…" he purrs, "...We’d hate to _break_ you again." 

She swallows. The bold one’s expression has shifted; now, the hunger in his eyes is obvious, as is the restraint. His powerful frame no longer seems frozen, but rather, tensed like a coiled spring - huge shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She can feel the deepened breathing of the gentle one against her as well. His grip has tightened around her waist; his quiet excitement thrums in her mind. That overwhelming strength, just beneath the surface… whose word holds them back? Their leader's? Or hers?

Before, she has seen herself as prey only in the most literal, violent sense. Now, at last feeling the _heat_ in the bold one’s intent, half-lidded gaze... oh, gods. She shivers deeply as images flood her mind. Any one of them could press her slight frame to the bed with barely a thought - pin her wrists - her heart begins pounding as she imagines that weight on her again, as overpowering as her capture in the throne room - that heavy breathing at her ear - but this time, forcing apart her helpless thighs - hot breath at her throat building to a deep growl against her trembling body, as - as - as - oh - oh, gods - she takes a shuddering breath - oh, _gods,_ what is _wrong_ with her? Such terrifying thoughts - and yet, this sense of craving almost seems _stronger…!_

A movement from the Prime recaptures her scattered attention. His inspection of the fruit has apparently finished. With a graceful sweep, he leans forward… and drops the morsel into her mouth. It is her turn to sit frozen in open-mouthed shock; she makes no attempt to close her lips around the steel digit. 

"…After all, you wouldn’t... _want_ that…" the Prime murmurs sweetly. His touch brushes over her lip. At her tight whimper, he holds her gaze with a slow, meaningful smile. 

_“...Would_ you...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho it seems Ambassador is discovering some new kinks 
> 
> unfortunately for her, Prime's getting tired of the dubcon :P  
> yes hold on to your butts, next chapter it's time for VERBAL CONSENT gasppppp *is such a thing even possible*


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glorious Yunta/Yagi delivers upon us more delicious art of the last few chapters! [Here](https://poipiku.com/24765/3293543.html) and [here.](https://poipiku.com/24765/3293530.html)
> 
> Also, once again I mention the bold one's hand fetish for no particular reason. This chapter gon' *mess him up*. :D

_ You wouldn't want us to break you again.  _

…Would she? 

The Prime's steel talon lingers between her lips. As she swallows, its wicked point grazes the surface of her tongue; it takes every ounce of will not to yank back by reflex. Her body is still held firm in the gentle one's arms; no doubt any twitch would leave her skewered on Prime's claw, just as the fruit had been. 

Instead, she keeps still, and closes her eyes. There is an innate threat to the sharp steel, polished so smooth that it glides rather than scrapes over her lower teeth. She lets out a whimper, and receives a satisfied hum in response. This, even more than the danger, sets her heart thumping again. Her voice  _ pleases _ the Conqueror of Galaxies. 

The gentle one begins to thrum at her back. Echoes of thought flare in the back of her mind - the patterns of worship learned from her attendants. Yes. She had given her voice in offering unto the Light. Was it not enough? Indeed, she might break again, if she seeks that bliss for her own fragile self. 

If she is too unworthy to accept that warmth… oh, Shadows… if she is doomed only to break between their thrumming bodies and wandering hands… 

…Then may she break a thousand times. 

The Prime's hum swells into a purr as she presses forward - with her mind, and her tongue. The underside of the talon's length curves gracefully to the flared joint; she explores it slowly, intently, almost savoring the pain that now spreads from the point. Each movement presses that sharpness into the back of her tongue, and… as she breathes into it, as she wraps her mind around the sensation and her mouth around the steel… somehow, it  _ focuses  _ her nerves. 

Her heartbeat, though thudding fast, does not falter. Her quick, shallow breaths come as much from excitement as from fear. She pours herself into the worship of this, an inch of Divinity. 

_ Please… let me taste it again… that warmth… that Light.  _

Somehow, she reaches…  _ out _ with her mind. As she beseeches the Prime with her tongue, his thrum of approval sets that blessed warmth blooming through her chest. 

"And at last..." he purrs. "Seek... and you shall receive."

Prime's talon withdraws from her lips. She opens her eyes to a glint of silver, as it crooks towards the bold one, beckoning. A low, strained noise emerges from her attendant - a groan so deep in his throat it nearly resembles a growl. 

By instinct, she shies back at the intensity of  _ want  _ in his expression - ears shivering, brow strained, uneven breaths drawn through slack lips. As he leans forward into the Prime's touch, she finds herself pressing into the gentle one's chest. The soothing hum from behind steadies her; some of her nerves give way to intrigue, then enthrallment. Is  _ she  _ the cause of that vibrant flush? Had he lost this much composure, just  _ watching  _ her worship at the hand of his god? 

The claw, still slick from her tongue, draws forth another ragged groan from the bold one as it strokes down his cheek. He tilts his head into the touch, as if trying to catch it in his own mouth - a futile attempt. With a quick, deft motion, Prime slides the point beneath the clone’s chin and presses upwards in an intimately familiar gesture of control. 

Obviously, the attendant knows this gesture as well as she; he falls still, ears dropping back in immediate submission. Only the visible tension in the muscles of his shoulders, and the soft whine that escapes his throat, betray the restrained heat still smoldering within. 

Prime regards his capture, angling his claw to stretch the clone’s neck further upward. “You see? Quite tame,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you’d like to try him yourself?” 

She draws her lip between her teeth, staring at the bead of sweat trailing down the center of her attendant’s full chest. Try… what?  _ Touching _ him...? The thought stokes both nerves and craving. There can be no more ambiguity, no assumption that such intimacy is reserved for their kin. Prime is…  _ offering  _ the bold one. To  _ her.  _

With a tiny, almost imperceptible motion, she nods.

The corner of Prime’s mouth twitches up, and a single secondary eye flicks to the gentle one. “Release her.” 

The arms around her pull back. She gives a squeak of surprise - and perhaps, just a little, of protest. Without that solid warmth behind her, she feels… exposed. Ahead, there is something almost animalistic in the bold one’s hooded gaze; she can feel its intensity focused on her face, despite his pupil-less eyes. She looks back over her shoulder, unsure. The gentle one tilts his head and thrums encouragement.

“I,” she begins. Her voice comes out as a wordless squeak. A prickling flush spreads up her face as she swallows, inhales, and tries again. This time, she manages a barely-audible whisper. 

“I… I only need …my  _ hands _ free.” 

The gentle one blinks, then smiles softly in understanding. Steady arms slide around her waist, anchoring her… and as he leans down, his low, smooth reply is joined by soft lips brushing her ear. “...And we are here to attend your needs.” 

She lets out her breath in a tiny sigh, only now realizing she had held it. When she finally looks forward, Prime is eyeing her with that knowing smirk. Her flush deepens.  _ In hiding or in holding,  _ indeed. It seems the gentle one has performed the most effective capture after all: one the prey does not wish to escape.

“So it  _ does  _ make you feel safer…” he muses, as if to himself. “Quite the  _ useful _ loophole.”

Though the flush burns her cheeks, she sets her jaw and fixes her gaze on the bold one. For this, she will take any shot of courage she can get. He stares back from his tilted-up angle, throat exposed, breath unsteady, the picture of passivity… except for the fire in his eyes. Her own breath is less steady than his; and her hands, unsteadier still. 

Slowly, hesitantly, she reaches for the swell of his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so she didn't quite manage *verbal* consent, but I think she got the point across.  
> GO GET IT AMBASSADOR


	23. Chapter 23

The bold one's eyes stay fixed on her face, but he does not move. The single claw beneath his chin holds him as surely as if he were bound in chains. 

And yet, her hands still tremble. 

She holds her breath as her fingertips brush skin - and feels an irrational swell of relief at not being immediately devoured. With borrowed courage from the gentle one's purr at her back, she exhales, and flattens her palms against the other's chest. 

Touch dissolves whatever veil remains over her mind. Even before she spreads her hands over his skin, she  _ feels _ him like a wash of heat - feels the raw strength of his - 

_ Hunger. He starves to touch, to taste - to  _ take _ the coy little creature before him. But the will of his God is more binding than any desire of his own; and his God, in His all-seeing wisdom, has bid the reverse. He is honored to attend a seeker of the Light. For her, he will be tame.  _

_ It is a worthy test; only those strongest of will may serve as the Prime's Chosen. And oh, the strength it takes, as she tempts him so - as she laps so sweetly at the steel focus of his sharpest lust - such torment to decide whose place he envies more, the talon or the tongue -  _

She snaps back to her own awareness with a start, to find herself  _ gripping  _ the spread of muscle - fingertips spread, pressing into his firm flesh. His slight panting moves his chest against her hands. Still held fast by the steel claw beneath his chin, he lets out a soft groan, and she feels the resonance through her fingers. 

Oh, Light, he feels so  _ warm.  _

She has no idea what to do with her hands. Luckily, they seem to have a will of their own - squeezing, stroking over him - savoring the fullness of his shape, the mesmerizing spring beneath her fingers, the  _ intimidating _ breadth. Her hands look so small against the dusky expanse of his chest and shoulders. Like a great blue-grey sea, she almost imagines that if she could press hard enough, she might plunge past the surface… might sink her face deep into the valley between his pectorals, and keep pressing in until that warmth devours her whole. 

He responds to her touch with another soft groan, leaning forward against her hands - despite how the movement presses the underside of his jaw to Prime's talon. The muscles in his neck twitch, but he makes no move to pull back. He just stares down at her, silent, smoldering. 

Prime watches the restrained clone with a broad smirk that threatens to eclipse his own jaw. She glances up at the satisfied gleam in his eyes, swallows, and whispers, "L-let him come closer."

The Emperor tilts his head and regards the way she stays firmly nestled in the gentler attendant's arms. It is clear she is loath to exit that safety… however nonsensical it may be. 

"Very well... if you’ve found a touch of courage..." he purrs, and lowers his claw. 

The bold one's chin lowers with it; he thrums relief. Still cautious of the point, he leans in to allow her free rein - close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead. There, the talon stops him again. She feels his pulse of frustration through their collective link. Though he quells it immediately with resolve, the gentle one gives a teasing little trill behind her head. He shifts an arm from around her waist to softly stroke her hair. She does not need to look back at his expression to know his meaning:  _ See what you could have if you behave, Brother? _

At this angle, much more of the bold one is within her reach. Her hands slide up his neck, exploring the contours of muscle, cords of strength framing his vulnerable throat where the steel point is pressed. Then his jawline, and the sharp plane of his cheekbones. She brushes her fingertips along the line where cobalt ends and bone-white face begins. Even his head feels huge in her hands; when she holds either side of his face, her fingers barely reach his ears. 

He sighs at the gentle touch, and his eyes fall closed as she stares up at his parted lips. She does  _ consider _ accepting the clear invitation… 

…But his ears are  _ right there.  _

His eyes snap open again as she grips an ear in each hand. Their supple length is far more yielding than the rest of him; she tugs them up and down in fascination, mimicking the expressive perking and drooping she has observed. His face, meanwhile, is quite expressive on its own - wide eyes blank with shock, mouth set in a tight, twitching line as he strains not to bare his fangs. He makes a quiet, strangled noise in his throat. Prime chuckles from the side, and at last withdraws his talon. It seems he is content to sit back and study her behavior, now that she has found a more suitable means of subjugation. 

Above her ear, the gentle one is thrumming amusement. "I should inform you, Ambassador… our ears are  _ very  _ sensitive."

"Oh. Um." She pauses her ministrations. "Good sensitive? Or… bad?" 

"Either, if that is your pleasure," he says smoothly. 

The bold one whines in response. She wonders if she detects a certain note of mischief in the gentle one's unassuming tone. Would it still be called sibling rivalry, between clones? 

Either way, she has no desire to rile this one up any further. Apologetically, she softens her touch, stroking the delicate edges of his ears between the pads of her thumb and fingers. The whine trails off into a sigh as her attendant's face visibly relaxes. She continues, encouraged, feeling a strange sense of delight at the quiet warbling trills now drawn by her strokes. 

It is a marvel to her that he responds so readily - not a trace of the shyness she would feel at making such uninhibited noises herself. Especially now, as his ears warm between her fingers and that neon flush spreads from their tips, and his sighs deepen into something more vocal. His eyes are closed again, brow arched in open pleasure - oh, that sweet  _ warmth  _ swelling from his mental hum - he starts to purr deep in his chest, joining the gentle one’s renewed thrum of encouragement behind her, and she tugs his face nearer by the ears to let their warmth soak in at the edges of her mind - yes, there, she can feel it, that Light, that bliss, she can begin to taste it again - and she can  _ reach _ for it now, pull it closer, let it melt into her mind as the clone now melts into her touch - let it surround her again and submerge her in this warmth she so craves, this  _ heat,  _ rising from within her core and the thrumming at her back and the soft throaty moans near her lips - 

She  _ does  _ take the invitation, this time, and pulls his face to hers. His ears make excellent handholds. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here [have some art](https://imgur.com/a/bX894Vr) I doodled from chapter 22. Bold one goes hnng. <3

She knows the taste of these lips. Yes - he is the one who had kissed her before, after all. Although… she might try the other as well. Just to be sure. 

The bold one's lips melt against hers, slow, languid; his body soon follows, pressing into her. The arms of his Brother shift to accommodate him. Between them, she can scarcely move, yet neither can she find the will to care - this immersive, thrumming warmth - she moans into the kiss, and they _both_ moan in return, as a pair of broad hands slide up from her waist and another wraps around her hips. The heat builds in her core in tandem with flutters of fear, swelling as the breathing against her lips grows heavy and the wide chest presses closer with a low rumble - the grip tightens - wet heat slides past her lips - his _tongue,_ invading _-_ that rumble becomes a rough growl - her pulse leaps in rising panic - 

\- And he freezes in place, the growl broken off in his throat. 

Breath tight, she blinks her eyes open in confusion. Had the Prime stepped in again? But no - the Emperor lounges on his side as before, watching calmly with his chin propped on his fist, one brow lifted. He seems almost… intrigued. Only then does she notice her grip on the bold one's ears - fingers shaking, digging into the skin with unbidden force. 

Though her heart still stutters, she wills her hands to relax, just slightly. The bold one groans. She can feel him panting against her - see the twitch in his drawn-back lips, the glint of exposed fangs - something flares inside her at the sight - perhaps terror, perhaps craving; it is growing harder and harder to tell the difference. There is _nothing_ to stop him from simply wrenching his head free of her grip, to sink those fangs deep into her throat... but he stays perfectly still, eyes squeezed shut, taut with restraint. She stares at those gleaming points with a strange, morbid fascination. 

How _would_ that feel, if…? Could they really be as sharp as they look? 

She dares not test with her fingers - as that would mean moving her hands, her sole means of safety. So she leans the slightest bit closer, heart pounding, a hair's breadth at a time, until her mouth finds his again. 

Tentatively, she probes past his twitching lips with her tongue.

The clone makes another strained, throaty noise as she slowly explores his mouth. The heat of him against her, the low rumble, is _intoxicating._ Once more her nerves focus on the sharpness on her tongue, as she draws the tip over the edges of his teeth, tracing around each point, memorizing the way they feel. 

Oh… yes. Very sharp indeed. 

Yes. She… knows what to expect, now. Somehow, irrationally, this helps temper the panic in her pounding heart. Or perhaps it is the soothing way the gentle one's hands are stroking over her again. His steady breath warms her hair as he nuzzles the top of her head. She lets herself melt again, just a little. Not completely - her breath still comes shallow and tight - but enough. 

Enough to let that pulsing heat in her core push past the cold grip of fear. Enough to loosen her grip… and then, to release it entirely. 

Part of her - a large part - still feels the press of anxiety, knowing the Emperor’s calculating gaze is taking in every detail of these wanton acts. Does he take pleasure in watching his Chosen guide her in worship? Or is he… evaluating her? For what? Courage? Malleability? She shivers as she wonders if he means to test her body as well… her ability to survive what these powerful creatures may do to her. 

And yet… when the bold one's pointed tongue curls over hers, and that low rumble starts in his chest, she breathes it a trembling welcome. 

He is far less cautious than she. Wet heat slides through her lips, assertively pushing past her teeth to wind around her tongue - oh - oh, _Shadows,_ the way his tongue moves, sinuous and strong - he explores her mouth, sliding deeper, opening her lips further with his jaw - she whimpers in shock as more of its length pushes inside - filling her mouth, probing her throat. 

The hands at her hips stroke inward, pressing into the hollow just inside her hipbone. More hands slide up over the heavy silk of her robes. She is not sure whose are whose. She is not sure she cares. Her own hands have dropped from the bold one’s ears; she clings with abandon to the thick muscle of his shoulders, feeling him shift and flex beneath her grip as he moves against her, pressing the breath from her lungs. It is not enough. Gods, she wants _more_ of him against her, not just his chest, but all of him - she wraps her slender arms around his neck as their tongues entwine, slick heat sliding and pressing against each other - 

Her fingertips brush the lip of something metallic, and without thinking, she presses into the open port. Her touch meets something yielding, something not quite organic; and as it gives, a thick hot wetness wells up at her fingertips. The clone shudders deeply against her, and _gasps_ into her lips. 

Just as she is about to draw back, worried she might have hurt him, the gasp breaks into an open-throated moan. As she tentatively swirls her fingertip against the yielding surface, he moans again, louder - the hands wrapped around her hipbones tighten their grip to the point of pain, claws pressing into the silk - he pulls from the kiss to draw another shivering breath - then tilts his head back, and lets out a guttural groan. Oh, mercy… what did she just _do_ to him? 

When he lowers his head to look at her, panting, his eyes _burn._

She remembers, as if from a distant dream, that star-scorching look he had given her not so long ago - then across the room, mantled over his Brother’s arched form, staring into her eyes with the hint of a fanged smile as he thrust inside. There is no teasing smile now; only that blazing intensity. 

His eyes lift, directing that blaze over her shoulder. Behind her, the gentle one gives an ardent thrum. Hands shift, then bodies, grinding her between them - as the two clones meet in a forceful kiss, just inches above her face. The bold one _shoves_ forward, forcing both her and his partner back and down, into the nest of pillows that had once been her fortress.

She finds herself looking up at his braced shoulders from her back - the gentle one's broad body reclined, still holding her securely in his arms. He shivers into a moan beneath her as the bold one bears down with that passionate kiss, and - and - oh gods, the way he mantles over them both - the way his hips push against her closed thighs - 

Like a lit flame cast into a smoldering pyre, that look in his eyes has seared straight to her core. Somehow, she knows without question: gripping his ears will no longer curb him. And, somehow… 

Somehow, that thought only ignites her even more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Prime just likes to watch. :P


	25. Chapter 25

_ "Small one… let us unfurl you."  _

Between the pressing bodies of the two Chosen, she cannot be certain who murmurs these words at her cheek. She feels their deepening breath against her, twin tongues entwining over her head, then pulling apart to explore, one leaving a path of wet heat down the side of her neck… the gentle one's arms still hold her, but now his hands are moving, palms and fingers spread over the silk of her robes. His touch molds to the curves of her body as it strokes upward from her waist to her small breasts. 

_ Oh, Shadows.  _ Her hands move to clutch at her robes, as if for protection. She curls and uncurls her fingers. She should stop him… shouldn't she? Gods, the feeling of those huge hands sliding the liquidy silk over her breasts… the taut sensation that pricks at her peaks… this is not the careful, soothing touch of before. Now, the gentle one wields the touch of a lover. Slow, yet ardent and willful… and entirely unafraid. 

The bold one lifts himself slightly off her, to rake his eyes over her curves with unmistakable lust. Half-formed questions swirl in her fracturing thoughts - does their difference in species mean  _ nothing _ to him? Is his monosex species even attracted to the female form? Anticipation and heat swells from his mental thrum as he watches his Brother caress her. What does he see, looking down at her small, trembling figure? A partner… or prey? 

And what does  _ she  _ see? She shivers as she stares up at the powerful silhouette of the clone’s shoulders. Disconcertingly, she finds her own eyes roving as well - following the shifting contours of muscle down his torso, the way he rises and ebbs with each heavy breath. Something thrills inside her at the way his form eclipses hers, casting her entirely in his shadow. It is the same part of her that sends a tingle over her tongue at the memory of tasting his fangs. The same part that sparks through her breasts as she begins to feel the gentle one’s claws, pressing at her yielding flesh through the silk. The part of her that is clearly insane.

Her heart thumps wildly. Confusion and panic bubbles up in her chest.  _ I - I can't! I can't do this!  _

…Can she? 

She squeezes her eyes shut, breath held, waiting for the choice to be taken from her. Her resistance is a hollow facsimile. When the huge hand engulfs hers, she barely pushes against it; its claws easily peel her fingers from the silk, slowly, one by one. It is almost a relief to feel that hand draw hers aside, with its inevitable, unquestionable power. That strength is less like a lover and more the will of the universe - the touch of fate. 

"Ask me to stop," breathes the Emperor's voice in her ear. 

Her eyes snap open. When had the Prime moved so close? His breath ghosts over her cheekbone as he lifts his head, to affix her in a piercing fourfold gaze. Utterly impassive, calm, he repeats: "Speak, and by My will, you may end this without consequence."

She opens her mouth, which feels suddenly dry. No sound emerges. 

"Hold back, and you will be bared before Me," Prime continues. His voice is low, smooth, and even, carrying no hint of threat; yet still, his words leave her heart pounding in her throat: "Struggle as your prey instincts command. Even so, my Chosen will access every part of you, and open you to the Light." 

He leans closer. Slowly, clearly, he enunciates his words, his eyes burning into her soul.  _ " _ A single word. 'Stop.' ...  _ Do you understand?"  _

She swallows. In the engulfing palm, she lets her fingers clench, then unclench, as she draws a shaky inhale… and shuts her eyes. Her voice emerges as the barest whisper. 

"I… understand."

“Very well,” murmurs that smooth voice from the side. 

From beneath, the gentle one makes a soft, indulgent noise against her neck. His claws hook into the heavy silk… and pull. 

Her breath comes shallow and sharp as she feels her robes shift. Silk brushes over the stiff peaks of her breasts, making her whimper, before sliding off entirely. The gentle one draws the cloth off her shoulders and to the sides, leaving her arms somewhat trapped in the voluminous sleeves - and the rest of her, utterly exposed. 

Above her, the bold one groans - a sound that quickly drops into the register of a growl. She feels his weight shift in his braced forearms, which are planted to either side of her shoulders. His hips move back from her side-tucked legs. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she can  _ feel _ his gaze - drinking in the sight of her bared form. Her skin prickles as his breathing falls across her from above. Or is that prickle something more...? 

Yes; something cool and sharp grazes down her sternum, between her naked breasts. She abandons her attempts to hold in her whimpers. After all, the Emperor has demanded her voice.

"Your fear is so thick I can smell it on your skin," breathes Prime from beside her head. "An  _ exquisite  _ cocktail, when combined with the scent of…" The metallic point trails down her belly, between her hips. She twitches and gives a tiny gasp as she feels it glide through the tuft of fur at her mound. "...its  _ opposite _ ."

Without thinking, she moves to cover herself, wide-eyed and flushed - only to entangle her arms in the sleeves of her robes. There is a chuckle from Prime. “Ever a slave to her instincts. Restrain her.” 

Hands close around her wrists through the cloth. That thrill of danger flutters in her chest as the gentle one lifts her wrists above and behind her head, pressing them together, and engulfs them both in one broad hand. His other hand strokes down her inner arm, back to her shoulder - then, teasingly, traces the outer curve of one breast. She gasps and twists away - or tries to. His grip on her wrists holds firm. Above her, the bold one grins wickedly - fangs on full display - and lowers his face to her throat. 

A high, shuddering noise escapes her as the full gravity of her position sinks in. Exposed. Pinned. Helpless. 

…And  _ aching  _ with heat. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW as things start to get a bit... rougher. The biting and claws are a given, but I figure I should warn for blood.

"Fascinating." 

Prime's voice maintains its observational, even tone, as she feels her attendant exhale at her throat. She shivers and whimpers at the sensation, the twitch of his ear against her cheek, the press of lips… the slightest, teasing graze of fangs. Her whimper swells to a trembling whine. 

"The two emotions… desire, and fear… they seem to feed off each other," murmurs their observer. "I wonder, small one… can you even tell the difference?" 

She makes no attempt at an answer. The gentle one thrums beneath her, as the fingertips of his free hand skate over her breasts. She shivers and draws her lip between her teeth, her attention caught between the light prickles of sensation on her breasts and on her throat. The grip on her wrists is warm and steady; cautiously, experimentally, she tries to pull away. The attempt has all the effect of a listless breeze. A pulse of heat tightens between her hips. 

Prime seems not to be expecting a reply, for he continues as if to himself. “Perhaps… you don’t _want_ to tell the difference,” he muses. “You seem to somehow _revel_ in your fear… a more acceptable thrill, perhaps…?" 

Her heart thumps as she pulls on her wrists, to no effect - and then, wet heat paints her throat as the bold one _growls_ against her, rough, primal, sliding his pointed tongue down along the tensed muscles of her neck - her crux _throbs_ in response - she gasps at the flood of sensation as his mouth moves towards her chest, and finds herself straining upwards into its heat - but the gentle one’s hand presses over her ribs, clasping her down to him. He rubs his palm over one breast, letting the peak drag against his skin. In a moment, the bold one’s tongue claims the other.

Pleasure battles with burning self-consciousness as she whimpers and squirms in her attendants' arms. The tension in her crux is impossible to ignore now, flushed and throbbing. A heated flush covers her face as well, just as much from embarrassment as arousal - the way this position bares her trembling body, the way the Emperor just lounges there _watching, studying_ her reactions - yes, the weight of his gaze is far heavier than the bold one’s body. It is unreadable, no sign of approval or disapproval. He seems to take in every inch of her flesh, mapping it, cataloguing it cell by cell. Every feature... every flaw. 

She swallows through her halting breaths, chest tightening, distracted as the tongue pulls away. Is she... desirable, to the Emperor? Is she even _acceptable_ to him? Does she _want_ to be? - That much, she can’t deny: as she searches his gaze, she realizes her hope is to see the same hunger she has seen in the bold one. The tightness in her chest squirms. Yes. This terrifying, _captivating_ warlord… she wants his approval of more than just her position as Ambassador. She wants more than just to obey him and survive. She wants to please him, see him smile upon her, let him bring her fully into his Light. She wants to prove she can _accept_ his Light. And yet, after only a few seconds of looking back at him, his stare becomes unbearable. She averts her gaze. 

The bold one catches that gaze instead, looking down at her with a fang-edged smile. As his partner's hand continues caressing her breasts, his own have slid down along her tightly-closed thighs. She stares wide-eyed at the huge cobalt hands engulfing her knees, and whimpers again. The muscles of her legs shake from how tightly they squeeze together; yet she already knows how futile that is. 

His eyes never leave hers. Claws press into the flesh of her trembling thighs, as he easily forces them apart. 

His throaty groan rolls over her as he moves down. "Soft one…"

Anxiety, shame, and thrill form a writhing miasma of tension in her core. The gentle one's arm has wrapped around her ribs to quell her squirming, and the bold one's heavy grip remains on her thighs, leaving her completely immobilized - spread wide open to the eyes of her captors. She can feel warm air moving over the sensitive skin of her nether lips, ruffling the patch of fur… his _breathing…_ oh, Shadows! With a flustered whine, she hides her face in her upper arm. 

Because she is hiding so, she has no warning before he engulfs her in the heat of his mouth. 

After a full day of denial and teasing, the yearning nerves of her sex _burst_ alight. She gives a high-pitched gasp, then a cry, as the bold one all but devours her. His mouth is ferocious, ravenous - she feels him panting as his hands squeeze her upper thighs - gods, his mouth, his _tongue,_ tasting every detail of her folds, flickering between them, meeting - oh - oh _gods -_

She gasps violently as he finds her clit. Pleasure floods up through her core, as if the wet heat of his tongue is pouring over the pathways of her nerves, rivulets of bliss flowing into her, through her - she moans high and loud through ragged gasps - her body strains within her living bonds, overcome. More wet heat paints the side of her throat, a blissful counterpoint, and she arches back into it - a breathy groan at her crux - a deep _growl_ at her neck. Then, _pain._

Edges and points of pressure sink in around the press of heat at her neck.  _ Teeth. _ She gasps, just as the other mouth draws her clit deeper. This wave of bliss from below hits simultaneously with the pain above. The fluttering fear, having never left, now flares to a panic as the once-gentle one's jaws close down. That desperate instinct known only to prey - that strength borne of mortal terror - overcomes her; she struggles with all her might in the jaws of a predator, hyperventilating, dragging in air for a cry. Every ounce of adrenaline pours into her muscles as she tries to tear herself from the creatures' grip.

Her wildest struggle has no effect whatsoever. 

The not-so-gentle one wraps his arm tighter around her waist and squeezes her wrists, giving another rumbling growl as the piercing fangs sink deep. A full-throated _scream_ rips out of her throat - the rawness of it shocks her, the energy, the _release -_ and as she thrashes in his unshakeable hold, there comes welling up a bizarre wash of… _euphoria._ She feels… unfettered. _Wild._ All thoughts of decorum, of shame, of propriety - even before the Ruler of the Known Universe - all these concepts dissolve when faced with fear for her very life. And never has she felt so alive.

His words still grasp her heart. _Struggle, as your prey instincts command._ Not a threat - a promise. _Even so..._

Somehow, the sharp pain at her throat is smoothing over as she screams, merging with that deeper thrill. Endorphins and adrenaline run wild in her hammering pulse as the bold one shifts his grip, digging into her inner thigh, tongue searing her clit. Her nerves are beginning to spasm from the burning ecstasy inside, sending twitching interference through her limbs. Clawed fingers press between her slick folds, seeking the clench of her core, drawing out her seeping arousal - and a disorientingly similar wetness at her throat, her blood welling up for a wanting tongue. 

Her lungs run out of air. She stares out through wide, unseeing eyes, still struggling weakly, uselessly - she feels her inner walls clench around the bold one’s claws as he pushes deeper inside - and, as that spasming pleasure starts to consume her, as it spreads out and up in waves, it meets the blooming pain at her throat - and - and - 

_Oh, Light, they really are going to eat me alive -_

Her eyes roll back. There is nothing she can do but give in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dropping another mention of my spacebat smut server for those enjoying this - hit me up on Discord, LadyBinary#8135. We have quite the little community of supportive monsterf--kers :D


	27. Chapter 27

The climax short-circuits her nerves, somehow aligning them all along the axis of pleasure. It is not that she doesn't  _ feel  _ the fangs piercing her throat, or the points of the clawed digits pressing inside. She has simply forgotten how to feel pain, or any other sensation than ecstasy. 

Her sex spasms around the length of the bold one's fingers, clutching desperately as she jolts into his ready mouth. But even more consuming is the searing bliss of his Brother's heavy jaws. The pain seems to refract as it meets those waves of pleasure - redoubled ecstasy flooding out through her nervous system. The claws digging into her waist and thigh throw further sparks. The air has broken to high, helpless keening in a voice like none she has ever heard - whether in bliss, or in agony, she isn't sure - as she runs out of air, her lungs press up into her throat, and the screams trail off into choking gasps - her throat feels raw - the cries were hers after all. 

At last, the powerful waves collapse in on themselves. The bold one's fingers have stilled inside her, his tongue making languid circles over her still-burning clit as her hips buck weakly. She whines and twitches as he slowly withdraws - gods, but this species' hands are so huge, even two digits fill her completely - curled slightly, his fingertips stroke her front wall on the outstroke, drawing a breathless moan. He carefully angles his claws to avoid her fragile flesh. 

The gentle one has curled around her; at some point he must have released her wrists, for now he wraps both arms around her shuddering body and clutches her to his chest. Low, ardent noises resonate against her back and over her throat. She feels his tongue stroking over the bite wounds as her panting slows. There is something strangely soothing about its slick pressure, even as pain filters back to her nerves. 

Shouldn't this be… bad? Shouldn't she hate this beast who, even now, is  _ savoring _ her blood? Why are her arms still wrapped back around his neck, mindlessly clutching his head closer? Why is she weakly rubbing her thigh against the bold one's cheek - almost  _ missing  _ the press of his claws? 

Oh, Light, why does she feel so…  _ good?  _

"Curious…" Prime's voice drifts over her, still as casual and conversational as before. "Perhaps more resilient than I'd assumed." A pause, then, "…Bring her here."

Her eyes flutter open. Their regal audience has shifted upright, his back to the bed's cushion-strewn headboard. His split skirts drape elegantly over his crossed legs; the Emperor is, of course, the only one who has kept the dignity of clothing. He extends an arm, and a beckoning smile. 

The gentle one gathers her splayed, shivering limbs. At least she is not expected to move under her own power in this boneless state. Still, her attendants seem loath to relinquish her; they press close as she is transferred to Prime's lap, hands wandering. Prime simply allows them to drape her over his waiting arm, as a gracious host at a dinner party would accept the doffed coats of his guests.

She seems to end up in the Emperor's lap with some frequency. All the better to catalogue her squirming, apparently. 

This time, though, she is too drained to squirm; and he holds none of the smirking air of before. He is not teasing her, now, but  _ inspecting  _ her: draping her over his lap, scanning her naked frame up and down with that unreadable gaze. He holds her behind the shoulders, allowing her head to loll back as his fingers trace her wounds. 

"This hurts you, does it not?" Prime asks conversationally, as he presses a thumb to her throat. She whimpers in assent; a trickle of fresh blood wells up beneath his touch, with a swell of sharp pain. She makes no attempt to pull away. Post-orgasmic haze winds through her trembling form, weighing her down. She doubts she could even speak through her ragged breaths, let alone move. 

"You bleed well. Not too thin. Slows quickly." His eyes and fingertips brush over her body as if reviewing blueprints for a new device, indexing each scratch and gouge in her skin. "Surprisingly high pain tolerance, when fully aroused. Another useful loophole of your species."

His touch moves with purpose. Her breath catches in her throat as it slides down over her abdomen, between her hips… and then, between her quivering thighs. The broad hand palms her mound without hesitation, as casually as if he owns it. Indeed, he owns the Universe. 

"Yet, with a frame as delicate as this…" he murmurs, as if to himself, "...I suspect such resilience has its limits."

She gives a tense shiver as his clawed fingertips part her folds. It is not a request. Her body has long since given up any will of its own - not even her arms have the strength to move, hanging limp along her body, hands twitching in his skirts. No objection is expected, nor given; only her shuddering gasp as two digits sink inside. 

“Good… be still, now...” he mutters idly. One eye rests on her face, but the other three watch the twitch of her hips as he spreads her inner walls. Oh,  _ gods,  _ those impossibly broad hands... she stares up, panting, at the narrowed eyes above her. Her own wide eyes are brimming with a churning rush of feeling: shock, awe, fear,  _ need.  _

“That’s it. Breathe for me...” 

She can barely hear his voice over her own tense panting. The one who has destroyed a thousand stars - is  _ inside  _ her - that steel-armored claw resting in a gentle curve along her delicate outer lips, as his two middle fingers slowly press deep. There is nothing to distract her, no teeth or tongue to draw the tension away from her inner grip; she feels every overwhelming detail - the ridge of each joint - the texture and warmth of his skin - the smooth curve of the backs of his claws. She breathes in quick, tiny gasps, willing her hips to hold steady, lest those points shred her insides. 

The Prime’s touch is careful, methodical, almost clinical. He watches her limp body's shivering reactions - watches the way her fingers clutch weakly at his skirts - but his study gives no particular focus to pleasure. Rather than stroking or massaging, he simply… explores her. At a subtle motion of his head, an attendant's arms move beneath her upper body; thus freed, his other hand spreads over her abdomen, pressing gently with the pads of his fingers as if following the ones inside. 

Some part of her registers the clone’s soft soothing trills, the warmth of his body against her upper back; indeed, as the other attendant leans close to stroke her hair, some part of her feels gratitude at the now near-familiar comforts. But nothing could truly set her at ease - not with the Ruler of the Known Universe searching inside her with his own deadly claws. Her ragged breath cuts off entirely as he finds her deepest point. 

He presses against her depth, ever so slightly - not enough to pierce, but enough for her to  _ feel  _ the terrifying sharpness. The fingers at her abdomen push down with equal gentleness, palpating, then fall still. Above her, the two larger eyes fall closed as he inhales. When the Prime releases his breath, it sounds almost… disappointed. 

“...Hmm… no,” he sighs, and lets his palm rest over her trembling core. “Not without damage to the vital organs. As I suspected.” 

She manages to draw a single, unsteady breath, before his eyes - far more piercing than his claws - fix on her face. Something smolders behind them, something dangerous, contained only by the grace of His will. 

Inside her, his fingers flex - stroking slowly, deliberately, against her front wall - just once. Only once. 

She shivers deeply, o-shaped lips twitching in a silent moan, as the fullness withdraws. As the Prime looks down at her face, at the agony of conflicting desire, his unreadable expression recedes at last; the barest sign of a smile graces the corners of his lips.

“…Pity,” he says idly, eyes still locked on hers, as he wipes his slick fingers on her trembling thigh. “But clones will do.” 

He shifts, lifting his gaze. The smile broadens. “Brothers... you may proceed.”


	28. Chapter 28

She expects to be handed back into the arms of her attendants. Or, at least, the small part of her that can still form thoughts expects this. That part of her, hanging on by a thread of sanity, dissolves entirely when the Emperor himself lays her down on the silken sheets - and then settles his massive form beside her.

“I will monitor,” he purrs, idly stroking the trickling bite wound at her throat. “Brothers, do try to let this one  _ survive  _ the Light’s blessing.”

Additional hands arrange her on her back, but she does not look to see whose; the Prime’s arched face wholly captures her attention. He leans over her, head propped casually on one hand, the other now gliding down to join the ones already on her shivering body. Once more she finds herself caged, in the silver filigree of his cascading hair; and once more she welcomes her bonds.

Her heart pounds into her throat as that hand moves down her outer thigh, then wraps around it. She closes her eyes and whimpers. How many may have  _ failed  _ to survive accepting the Light in full? Does she care? Her soul and her sex both long to taste Divinity, to join as one in worship of the Light. It is the grip of the Exalted one himself that spreads open her legs, presenting her for the taking.

She feels the press of a broad, firm body between them.

Heavy breaths fall over her as the clone mantles above. Despite her own near-panicked breathing, she makes no attempt to resist. Her arms are free, but she leaves them curled tight to either side of her chest, clenching and unclenching her fingers. Another warm figure presses against her other side - she knows the thrum of the gentle one, if that description could still apply to him - his face drops to the wound at her throat, and rather than wince away, she simply whimpers and allows him access. A broad palm cups the side of her face as his tongue spreads over the aching marks. 

Something that feels unsettlingly  _ like  _ a tongue slides against her nether lips.

She cracks open her eyes for only a moment - long enough to see the two blazing eyes above her, and the asymmetric four calm ones just to the side - and then squeezes hers shut again. She cannot bring herself to look down, to view up close what she has only seen from a safe distance. To see that tentaclesque alien member pressed against her, terrifying,  _ breathtaking. _

The bold one rumbles above her. She can feel his prehensile length curling up over her mound to slick her abdomen. Its weight, its  _ heat, _ oh, Shadows, its  _ size -  _ her chest clenches as she absorbs the reason the Prime recused himself - ‘ _ not without damage to the vital organs’ -  _ and she wonders exactly how much of a difference that sole mercy will make. 

And yet… she can feel them again, curling into the edges of her mind. That warmth. That  _ worship.  _ The gentle one's mental resonance is a quiet enjoyment, but the bold one is a growing storm - sparks of his pleasure flit through the heat of her own sex as he grinds against her - and through it all, the greater Presence enfolding them. 

The taste of Divinity. She longs for it. She  _ aches  _ for it.

The gentle one’s hand turns her face towards his. His lips ghost over her cheek - she whimpers softly - at last, he reaches her mouth - his kiss tastes the same as his Brother’s, and yet, she would never mistake the two. The bold one’s kiss was a crash of passion and tongue; these lips move like a sonata, teasing, then pressing deep, then pulling back to entice her for more. 

At the same time, hands - so many hands - press down on her body. She feels the coolness of metal edging the great palm atop her head, and the one gripping her inner thigh. An unadorned hand slides up from her hip, over her abdomen, her breasts. Another closes around one of her own clenched hands. Walls of warm, powerful muscle press in on either side of her. Whether she is held in reassurance, or restraint, she is not sure - but, as she hears the deep growl above her, and feels that slick heat moving down towards her entrance, her involuntary squirm is held firm against the bed. She whimpers in alarm against the gentle one’s lips.

Heat presses between her aching folds, probing. Her whimpers cut to tight little gasps. It breaks the hold of the kiss, but that is the only hold to break; the powerful hands and bodies against her refuse to give an inch, even as she makes a futile attempt to struggle. Panic rises in her breath and pulse - a pulse in time with the throb of heat throughout her sex. 

The bold one's clawed fingers dig into her hip and waist. She can feel his strain at holding back, his  _ hunger _ \- his God yet holds him back with a thought - but the storm, the  _ thrill, _ is churning inside. 

_ So small. So soft. So sweet, as she trembles and gasps beneath him. Oh, the delicious helpless thing, trying to thrash free - yet he can feel the heated flush in her delicate little folds, the dripping need. As they hold her down, those frightened, squirming hips only paint her arousal along the underside of his cock. _

Let her struggle cleanse her of this frailty, that she may finally bear the fullness of the Light. Let her pounding heart bring Him pleasure. Let Divinity taste her terror - as well as her desire.

“Poor thing… yes, it’s all right. Resist, if it comforts you.” The Emperor chuckles darkly at her ear. His claws squeeze tighter around her thigh, firmly holding her immobile - spread wide. “Either way... this is going to  _ hurt.” _

The heat presses forward, just slightly - but enough to spread her entrance as the tapered girth increases. A deep throaty growl drips down from above her, taut with restraint. 

Oh, Light and Shadows, the pressure at her opening is already so much. It is not clear which will tear her open first: claws, fangs, or cock. She lets her fear take over - lets her struggle grow more desperate - as if she has a choice.

As if she  _ wants  _ a choice. 

“Ready yourself, my little Ambassador…” breathes the low, silky voice in her ear. 

That is her only warning, before the bold one thrusts inside. 


	29. Chapter 29

_Ready yourself._ As if anything could have prepared her for _this._

The shock of being _filled,_ all at once, completely, sears up through her body in a wave. The growl of pleasure above is drowned out by her own wild cry. Straining mindlessly against unyielding hands, she gasps high and ragged - utterly lost to this fullness inside her - inside, and _moving._

The bold one’s length _undulates_ against her inner walls, even as his body remains still. Arching, shuddering, she lets out breathless cries of shock in reply to his groan as he explores her depths. The alien movements inside, and the swell of his mind-linked pleasure, are _almost_ enough to distract from the painful stretch at her entrance. Almost. She is no virgin - but, with this species, she may as well be. The smallest shift flares through her inner nerves, rendering her a gasping, whimpering mess in mere moments. 

She has little capacity to notice when the Prime’s powerful arm slides beneath her head from the side - nor, a moment later, the gentle one’s shudder against her. She has little awareness of her own limbs, let alone those of others. Every nerve is focused between her legs as the overwhelming fullness starts to withdraw.

The gentle one gives a little gasp at her throat, pressing close as if pulled there. In a moment, the sound breaks into a moan. Her eyes flutter open, blinking through blurred vision, through her shallow gasps; it takes a moment for the flash of metal to register in her periphery. The clone shudders and moans again, yielding beneath the slow swirl of a claw in his neck port. She has no more than an instant to notice it, before the bold one’s claws wrap beneath her hips - and haul her lower body into the air.

He pauses above her, drawing deep breaths through his chest, staring down with that blazing hunger in his eyes. His claws flex against her skin. As she struggles to catch her breath, a thought trickles in - one that sends a new twist of panic through her gut. She has not yet felt his base. 

The grip of his claws tightens. An unsettling growl builds low in his chest - the sound deep and raw, like a great beast. In the looming shadow of his wide shoulders, in the grip of heavy hands and the heavy heat inside, all she can do is draw a shuddering breath. His growl drips down from above like molten ore.

Then, he drives in _deep._

The force of his hips against hers sends her reeling - to say nothing of the force in her depths. It drives a ragged cry all the way up from her core through her chest, as a wave of pleasure-edged pain _ignites_ across every nerve in her body. All outgoing nerve signals collapse, overwhelmed in sensation. Her limbs are no longer under her control. 

Lungs emptied, she sucks in a high gasp for another cry. The stretched pain at her entrance pales in comparison to the powerful heat inside, _pushing,_ forcing her depths to yield, with little regard to the limits of her sex. Muscled hips grind against her - savoring her - as she chokes on a building scream. 

With a breathy snarl from above, the bold one begins to move.

Her scream tears out in full as that overwhelming force pumps inside her. He fills her utterly, unbearably, with deep rhythmic strokes. She feels herself arch up, shivering, still lifted off the bed, head falling back to open her throat for another scream - his claws dig in as he lets out a wild groan -

Climax slams through her with as little warning as that first thrust. Her scream melts at the edges, peaking with the sudden spasms through her core - agony, ecstasy, _both._

There is barely a functioning neuron to perceive the rumbling laugh at her side. The arm beneath her moves to enfold her upper body, pulling her in against a powerful chest. Even this cannot quell her violent shaking, nor muffle her helpless wails, as the bold one drives through her peak. The force surging inside her is a storm at sea - crashing thunder, towering waves - and she clings to this solid breadth like a life-raft, clutching desperately, heedlessly, to its anchoring warmth. 

Only as the storm begins to ebb, and the bold one’s hips slow to a decadent roll, and the gentle one leans in from behind to coo over her shoulder - only then does she start to care _whose_ firm flesh lies beneath her grip.

Oh, Stars, this is _His_ scent. 

Even through her shredded conscious, she knows the warmth of Divinity. Her guess is confirmed as she dares to look up. The Prime rumbles again, a low chuckle, against the bold one’s open mouth; he has the clone by the back of the neck, stilling him with soft brushes of lips and tongue.

At some point while she was lifted, the gentle one must have taken the opportunity to slide his body beneath hers; for the bold one lowers her onto firm flesh as he leans forward into the kiss. That heat remains inside her, still so unbearably full, still _moving_ slightly in that alien way. She whines, dazed, breathless, as warm weight comes forward onto her with the bold one’s grinding hips.

He is not sated, she knows. None of them are.

Not even _she._

“You _do_ surprise me…” purrs the smooth voice of Divinity. “That is well, small one. We have barely begun.”

His hand drops from the bold one’s neck, and reaches over her to stroke the gentle one. “Let us make better use of you, my patient Brother.”

The clone coos in agreement, nuzzling into the touch, and the Prime glances down at the way those once-polite hands have wrapped around her hips from behind. He smirks. “Perhaps you have something in mind?”

In her half-stunned state, she fails to glean the intent. That is, until the gentle one squeezes her against him, and leans close. His hand moves down over her trembling hip, then around, squeezing the twin swells of flesh at her rear. Clawed fingers stroke the cleft between. 

“Soft one…” he breathes, voice thick with desire. “Allow us to test your resilience… just a little further.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for dubcon coming off slightly more noncon than intended.

She feels a claw stroke down to massage her rear entrance - and a surge of panic overrides her ragged nerves. 

“Th- that’s not meant for -” she blurts, jerking her head up. Behind her, the gentle one only purrs, and slides his other arm around her waist. The bold one has her pinned by the hips with his weight, stilled only for the moment; slick heat, a twin to the alien length still pulsing inside her sex, now presses from behind. Her heart wraps itself around her throat.

Frantic, she shakes her head. “I - it won’t - you'll _tear me in half -_ ” 

“Poor thing. Yes… break you shall.” The Emperor chuckles, and releases the bold one’s chin - taking hers instead. She falls reverently still, nerves taut, as the metal claw rests over her cheek. He tilts her face up, and smiles - that beatific, captivating smile, so warm, so terrifying. 

“So bound by the shadows of fear… you shield yourself from the very freedom you seek...” he purrs. "Can you even feel the minds of your attendants, little one? How can you accept the Light like this?" 

She gives a choked whimper as those radiant eyes smile down at her. Though the clones thrum sweetly at the edges of her mind, her fear and resistance swells ever further to push back against their comfort. Indeed, the only moment she fully opened herself, she collapsed - revealing herself as fragile in mind as she feels in body. Is she really so ready for Rapture? 

From behind, heavy breath plays over her ear; a broad hand shifts her thigh, and the slick pressure mounts into pain. But the Prime’s steady grip keeps her locked in his gaze, and against his chest. His voice softens to a murmur as claws ghost down the back of her neck: 

“Yes… to accept our blessing in full, it seems... you _must_ break.”

As deeply as she longs to please Him, to earn her place in the Light, that wild prey-fear spreads like ink through her heart. Claws tighten, holding her down - the press of heat is encroaching - she gasps through sharp little cries of pain, every muscle clenched in fear, wide eyes fixed on the satisfied smile above her, pulse racing with her thoughts. _I can’t - I can’t take this much at once - I can’t do this -_

“Oh, but you _can._ I have faith in you.” The Prime’s voice is so soft, so sweet, so soothing. She could almost imagine sympathy in his gentle smile - if not for the dark gleam behind his eyes, glowing from his shadowed face. “In suffering, you are made _worthy,_ my small one.” His hands have engulfed her head, cutting off her peripheral vision, so that her entire world is narrowed to that gleam. 

That gleam - and the powerful hands on her hip, her thigh, firmly holding her open - the groan from behind her, as that slick heat _pushes_ inside - the searing, overpowering flare of _pain -_

 _“Suffer, for the Light’s blessing,”_ breathes that honeyed voice. _“Suffer… for Me.”_

He must have spoken into her mind as well - for she could not have heard any sound over her own scream.

The heavy thrum of Presence swells in her mind as twin forces press her inner wall between them. Her inner nerves surge, sending spasmodic shocks through her restrained limbs; held too close to thrash, she twitches helplessly through the long, ragged cry. The grip around her head tightens, and she feels his inhale, slow and deep, near her face. The great chest swells against her front. _Yeesss…_ purrs His voice. _Oh, yes… give Me more…_

Her scream runs out of air, but her empty lungs still press up into her throat as the two clones shudder against her. The bold one gasps, twitches - then leans close, grinding slowly in -

And, in a voice far more textured than his own, purrs: “…Give me _everything_ _.”_

The Conqueror of Galaxies gives a low, rumbling laugh in her ear - through the throat of his clone. For a moment, she forgets how to move or breathe entirely, even as the searing spasms of her inner nerves spread up through her core. The radiance of the Emperor’s grin is swimming before her - he still grips her head, gazing down at her with gleaming eyes - and yet, also, his surrogate body - _inside_ her - _moving._ The concept overwhelms her mind nearly as much as this fire overwhelms her nerves. 

The gentle one shudders against her back with savoring groans, arm squeezed around her waist. He holds himself in place, buried deep, stretching her unbearably; he does not need to move his hips, to move inside her. Her inner nerves _roar_ as searing pain from each entrance melds with the twisting, undulating pleasures deeper within. Stars flare through her vision as her silent scream dissolves.

Just as she manages to drag in a gasp, the second Prime’s hand closes around her throat. 

She tries to scream again, but can only press her empty throat against his palm. His weight presses down from above; she feels the purr in the Emperor’s chest as well as the clone’s as the latter grinds in. Slowly, languidly, decadently, the living god rolls his avatar’s hips into her. The overwhelming _power_ of his movements - the agony of being _filled_ so completely - oh, Shadows, His _heat -_ her eyes roll back - 

It is far, far too much rapture to resist. 

Shudders of impossible ecstasy roll out through her body in waves. The Presence purrs its triumph all throughout her mind. _At last… let Me feel you break._

She does not so much break, as _shatter._ Something in her mind gives way, as her body gives in - an unfathomable force tearing her open, like a great river surging through a crumbling dam - this is nothing like the gentle seeping warmth that filled her to collapse before; it _floods_ every corner and crevice of her conscious, infinite, inevitable, merciless - and _brilliant._

Surrender at last - oh, how _blind_ she has felt, so shrouded, so lost. The very concept of pain is dissolved, made anew in His grace. It is not pain that fills her, but Divine radiance - a sweeping tsunami of Light, welcoming her, claiming her - immersing her in the thundering roar of His will, just as her small trembling form is immersed in undulating worship. His Chosen avatars _consume_ her in the cleansing fire of pain and ecstasy, and she melts beneath them, into them, into this passion, her body rolls with theirs - His grip still claims her throat, unyielding, her lungs scream for air but she feels only the thrill of His touch - massive hands engulfing her head, crushing lips, devouring tongue - Divinity, _tasting_ her - _taking_ her. She feels His triumph, His _joy,_ and it becomes hers as well. Surrender. Conquest. _Victory._

The rumble of His exultant laugh resonates through every atom of her being. Yes - she belongs to the Light - she has _always_ belonged. All is His rightful claim: the Universe, and she. 

His purr melds with those of His Chosen, three voices speaking as one:

_“Welcome… little Sister.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're not *quite* done with her yet... ;D


End file.
